


Evacuated

by J_Shute_Norway



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Adventures, Enid Blyton-esque, Evacuation, Gen, WWII AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Shute_Norway/pseuds/J_Shute_Norway
Summary: The year is nineteen-forty and, after the invasion of Poleland and the fall of Furance, Zootopia stands alone against the Cud Reich. To escape the blitz, children in all major cities are evacuated out into the country. Nicholas Wilde is one of those children, and will be staying with Judy Hopps and her family. From settling in, helping out with the war effort and going out on adventures in the country, the two will become fast friends. But there's a war going on, and not everything will be plain sailing.





	1. Chapter 1 (Prologue): A State of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the description says, this story will be a WW2 AU featuring Nick as an evacuee, staying at the Hopps household to ride out the blitz in safety.
> 
> This is a story that I've had lying around for ages, and I decided I might as well start publishing it now. Updates will be weekly on Tuesdays, and I have about eight or nine chapters in the pipeline. After that, I may continue updating sporadically, or leave the story as is.
> 
> Some of you may remember a very dark AU I did for halloween based on a similar concept to this. This story originally started as a 'reverse Goodbye Mr Tom' (a story in which an evacuee is freed from his abusive home, and finds a caring father figure), however I quickly realised that the light side and dark side of the story didn't mesh together. Thus, the dark stuff already done was spun out into the Halloween story, while the light stuff is what you have here. Certain elements will initially be similar, but as time goes on the differences will show.
> 
> Finally, I'd like to thank 'TheCatWeazel' for fixing up the German in this chapter.
> 
> So, without much further ado, here it is and I hope you enjoy.

.

**Prologue: A state of war:**

.

_1st September, 1939._

.

The dawn mist was thick.

It carpeted the wide, flat plains like a dusting of flour on a baker's worktop, shallow but thick. The odd gust of wind would tear a gap in it, letting the morning sun touch the stubble of the recently harvested wheat fields, but the reprieve was short lived as the cloying shroud returned to cover it after a minute or two.

In a small red and white striped guard-hut, a flickering orange spark lit up as a mammal lit his first cigarette of the day. Taking it up in his clawed fingers, Stepan Mustedecki took a deep drag, staying his nerves before blowing out through his nose. He watched the smoke join the white mist, before reaching down to grab his newspaper. The dark and foreboding headlines on the front would have concerned him had he not already grown weary of the ever-repeating warnings. The grandstanding and sabre-rattling of his country's eastern and, more worryingly, western neighbours; it had been going on for so long and taking up so much space in the news that even he, arguable the person it was most relevant to in the whole country, had grown bored. So, rather than reading up yet more words on the Cud Reich's grandstanding, he skipped straight to the puzzles at the end.

Pen out, he chose a crossword and quickly got to work.

.

.

After just five minutes, all the easy clues had been answered. He was now onto the ones that needed at least a little thought, or at least some cross-checking. "Soe-wiecki urzędnik, naprawdę musi czytać 'Mein-Kampf'," he muttered, before turning his paper to the front page and scanning through the text.

.

"Molo…"

.

"Molo…"

.

"Molotov," he finally said, smiling as he found the name on the second page. He knew it already, but just wanted to check the spelling, lest he screw himself up later on. Turning to the back of the paper, he filled in the name of the Soeviet minister of war and smiled, his long and thin jet-black tail gently swaying in agreement. He was about to fill in a word that branched off of it when a somewhat familiar, but somehow 'off', sound piqued his attention. One of his little ears flicking with irritation, the polecat jumped off his stool and swayed his arms around, trying to clear away the mosquito he could hear.

A few swings in he stopped and paused.

Slowly chewing his lip, he tried to focus on the sound. Sure, it sounded like the perennial drone of one of those damned insects, but that wasn't it exactly. His fur slowly began sticking up on his back as he stepped out of his hut and looked up at the sky. The mist still clouded his view, but he could swear that he saw the sun flicker somehow. The noise was louder out here, and unlike an insect it was constant.

Continuous.

A never changing far off rumble…

Stepan felt a cold tingle run down his spine and he looked west, along the road as it went past his guard hut. Right next to it was a bar that crossed the carriageway and, beyond that, was a different country. A country which he desperately hoped wasn't doing what a small part of his mind thought it was doing.

The part of his mind got larger as an odd set of smells pierced his nose. Fuel oil, cordite, chemicals, the sweat of mammals and the exhaust of machines. Kneeling down, he placed his small pads on the ground before following with the side of his head. He gulped, his eyes widening and pupils dilating into pinpricks, as he felt the rumble of tank treads and the hammering beat of marching hoofs. Standing up, he raced towards his hut and grabbed his rifle and an old army hat. The polecat threw the latter onto his head before stepping out into the middle of the road, just as the looming monsters began to appear out of the mist. "Kurwa!" he cursed, before he pointed his rifle forwards. The first two vehicles in the column almost looked like cars, but behind the front grill and windshield the sides of an armoured hold rose up. Stepan stepped back a few paces as he saw the finer details coalesce. The machine guns up in their roosts, the crisp and perfect soldiers riding alongside the two halftracks and the great column of troops behind them.

A hoof of one of the sheep soldiers that drove the vehicles pointed out towards him, and Stepan took a deep breath before shouting out. "Ja, Stepan Mustedecki, poproszę, abyś szanował suwerenność Poleska i przestań, gdzie jesteś!"

He didn't know whether they could understand him, but whatever it was, his demand made no difference. The troops carried on, two soldiers jumping out of the front of one of the halftracks and racing towards the barrier across the road. One of them, a grizzled goat, paid him no mind. The other, a ram that looked to be at least half Stepan's age, held one hoof up while his other held a luger, its barrel pointing downwards. "Großes Wiesel," he warned, albiet in a slightly joking manner. "Bitte ergib dich, dann muss auch kein Blut fließen."

Stepan gulped, only gathering that the sheep wanted him to do something immediately. He silently thanked the sheep when, after staring at him for a few seconds, he offered a warning in his own language. "Proszę poddać się."

Stepan nodded and dropped his weapon, his paws going up as he walked over to his hut, taking a standing position and looking straight into the painted wood. The sudden wave of fear that had buried him slowly began to recede and, somehow, he managed to chuckle. Given his reason for visiting, the sheep soldier had certainly learned some appropriate phrases in Polelish. The surrendering polecat glanced to his right as the token barrier was removed, and the column of armour began moving into his country.

The start of a war.

The start of an invasion.

Tucking in his tail, just in case a wide vehicle ran over it, he noticed the young ram coming over. Paws out, he lifted the dropped rifle off the ground, speaking as he did so. "Vielen Dank."

His weapon out of reach, the small mustelid moved about a bit, looking up at the smiling sheep in front of him. The large ungulate waved him on and Stepan followed him to the side of the road, where the goat who'd also got out was standing, smart and proper in his jet-black uniform. The horned mammal was watching the lines of troops move past, now almost entirely composing of trucks filled with soldiers or supplies. Huge artillery pieces and field cannons were dragged along too, rattling and bumping as they were advanced to their new positions. Stepan lived in a small village to the northeast, and he knew that the fields on the top of the low hills to the north gave you a panoramic view of the flat river valley beyond. He hazarded a guess that this was an artillery division, aiming to set up there as fast as possible in order to provide covering fire for larger, heavily armoured troops, as they ploughed towards the larger cities. He wondered if he'd have a chance to ask as he was taken to a prison camp or something. Turning forward, the sheep had reached the goat and offered a firm salute.

"Gruppenführer, ich habe einen Gefangenen gemacht," he reported proudly.

The goat looked at Stepan with an annoyed stare before turning back to the sheep. Snorting before he spoke, his nostrils flaring out with his eyelids half lidded in annoyance, the horned mammal spoke in a tone that almost seemed to be disappointed. "Das sehe ich. Und warum, wenn ich fragen darf?"

The sheep's eyes opened by a fraction, and he stole a quick glance at his captive before turning back to his commander. "Er hat sich ohne Widerstand ergeben. Was jetzt? Wer ist verantwortlich dafür, Gefangene ins Lager zu bringen?"

The goat snorted. "In dieser Einheit, niemand."

The sheep blinked a few times, his hooves opening out somewhat while he gave a confused 'huh!?' The grunt over, he ran his hoof over his chin, looking back at Stepan before back at his commander. The goats eyes widened, and a smile grew across the sheep's face as he spoke. "Nun, ich denke, das ist nicht nötig. Er ist nur ein einfacher Grenzsoldat. Wir können ihn hier lassen, und er kann nach Hause gehen. Schwamm drüber!"

Stepan couldn't help but spot the look of incredulity that crossed the goats face. The sheep noticed it too, and began to speak. "Gruppenführer, ich..."

"Soldat, unser Ziel ist es, Lebensraum zu gewinnen, den diese Untersäugetiere für sich beanspruchen!" the goat barked. "Sein Leben ist wertlos, und alles, was er tun wird, lenkt unsere Truppen von der Sache ab." Stepan noticed the sheep gulp, throwing a guilty look towards him before turning back to his superior. "Als ich Ihnen befahl, sich um ihn zu kümmern, habe ich einen toten Iltis erwartet!" he continued, the last sentence causing the sheep's mouth to drop slightly. "Er sollte dankbar sein, dass wir bereit sind, eine Kugel auf ihn zu verschwenden, statt ihn einfach unter die Panzer zu werfen!"

Stepan closed his eyes and breathed in and out, feeling oddly calm despite the crackling static of tension and dread that filled him. Opening them, he met those of the sheep and spotted that the light in them had gone out, his bar like pupils staring out into nothingness. The goat lunged forward, grabbing the sheep's rifle and pulling it off his shoulder, only to push it back into his hands and then turn down, pointing straight at him. The horned mammal stood upright again, his right arm springing out straight in a salute as he cried out. "Heil Knitler!"

.

"Heil Knitler," the sheep saluted back, though without any of the pride or gusto that his commander had in his voice. The goat marched off, keeping a critical eye on the sheep all the time, while the younger mammal looked at Stepan, though his eyes refused to make direct contact. Wandering over, Stepan looked up as the larger sheep towered over him, and sighed.

"Danke…" Stepan said slowly, knowing at least that part of the sheep's language. Looking down, he noticed a few damp stains of the ground as the sheep spoke up.

"Przykro," he said slowly. "Tak mi przykro…"

Stepan let out a snort. It seemed like the sheep had picked a few very useful phrases to learn. He looked up slightly, almost studying the crisp uniform when a hoof with a cigarette came down. He snorted again.

He was certain it was one of his own.

"Zigarette?" the sheep asked.

"Ja… bitte," Stepan replied, as he opened his lips and held it in there. He pulled back a long breath, feeling the warm heat flow through his mouth and warming at least part of his ice-cold body.

The sheep handed down a strip of fabric.

Stepan shook his head. He took off his helmet, dropping it to the ground, as the sheep marched a few paces away before turning on his heel to face him.

Glancing to his right, Stepan noticed the goat still looking on.

.

His ears raised as he heard a rhythmic click, and he turned to face the sheep, his weapon raised and pointed at him.

.

He took a long drag of his cigarette. He closed his eyes, and could hear his heart racing at a terrible pace. He could…..

.

.

.

.

.

…

Ten minutes later, a small shovel pounded down and a heap of newly dug earth. Standing up, the sheep soldier wandered to the edge of the road and waited for a vehicle to come by. He glanced down at his uniform. His shining badges and pins. He remembered how his mother had kissed him on the forehead when he said that he was joining up. How proud she was that he was fighting for them and their country.

.

He didn't feel proud.

.

Not anymore.

.

.

* * *

.

.

_3rd September, 1939._

.

.

The elderly jack stood grimly in the large room. Light flowed in from the two large windows at one end, but despite the cream and marble decorations it seemed as dark as the cast iron in the fireplace. As he stood, papers in hoof, he reached up to stroke his large bowtie. His ears rotated as various other mammals prepared behind him. Some colleagues, some opponents, but many just simple mammals doing their jobs. He pondered… how many of them knew, or could guess, that he was about to make history.

He thought back to his father and his legacy, and wondered about the legacy he himself would leave. He himself was an old man now, recently seventy with adult children. It certainly proved that he wasn't a mule, as some of the gutter press had joked. He snorted, his upper lip twitching, carrying his bushy moustache with it. He felt a bit ill, though maybe it was the same pains in his bowels that had started to irritate him recently. He sighed, before closing his eyes as the familiar bells rang out.

Quarter past.

He turned to the waiting microphone, turned on, and spoke to his nation.

.

"I am speaking to you, from the cabinet room, at ten growling street," he began slowly, his voice tinged with regret. He paused, checking his papers again, before continuing. "This morning the Zootopian Ambassador in Baa'lin… handed the Cud-Reich government a final note; stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poleland, a state of war would exist between us." He breathed in, before sadly continuing. "I have to tell you now, that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently… this country is… at war… with the Reich."

.

There was a long pause as he remembered all he'd done before. His attempts to stop this from happening. How he'd betrayed an entire country, a proud and stable democracy, all for naught.

.

"You can imagine, what a bitter blow it is to me, that all my long struggle to win peace has failed… Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more, or anything different that I could have done and that would have been more successful."

He closed his eyes, and let some of the lingering anger in him ever slow slightly out. A tiny rally in his grandfatherly like voice, tiny, but still there. "Up to the very last it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between the Reich… and Poleland, but Knitler would not have it! He had evidently made up his mind to attack Poleland whatever happened… and although he now says he put forward reasonable proposals, which were rejected by the Poles, that is not a true statement!"

He raised his hoof up, as if lecturing. Even if this was over the radio, he wanted to drive this point home. "The proposals were never shown to the Poles, nor to us, and, although they were announced in a Reich broadcast on Thursday night, Knitler did not wait to hear comments on them, but ordered his troops to cross the Polelish frontier the next morning… His action shows convincingly, that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to gain his will! He can only be stopped by force! And we and Furance are today, in fulfilment of our obligations, going to the aid of Poleland, who is so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack on her people."

He stamped his hoof on the floor, clearing a line as he spoke forward. No more regrets, no more appeasement. Only war. A war that was completely, and inarguably, justified. "We have a clear conscience! We have done all that any country could do to establish peace… The situation… -in which no word given by Knitler could be trusted! …and no people or country could feel themselves safe, has become intolerable. And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage…."

.

Across the city and beyond, ears were swivelled and fixed on their radios. Somewhere, a sea of long ears all focussed on the news. Somewhere else, a pair of red fingers had put down a needle and turned up the volume on the family's radio set. Everywhere, mammals looked as each other, worried and scared, as the final words of the speech rang out.

"Now may God bless you all. May he defend the right! It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against - brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution - and against them I am certain that the right will prevail…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Don't worry, this story will get much, much lighter (I promise).
> 
> Not much to talk about in this chapter, other than the speech at the end being the same one given by Neville Chamberlain when Britain entered WWII (recordings of it exist up on youtube, if you want to check it out). The description of the room he is in as that of the cabinet room in 10 Downing street where, as stated, this speech was given from. On a sadder note, the mention of pains in his bowels is a reference to the bowel cancer that killed him, little more than a year later.


	2. Unexpected news

.

.

_January, 1940_

.

Stuart Hopps was a buck of many words. Over the years, this had made him many friends and had even been the reason for a few former friends to distance themselves from him over the years; not for any sour reasons, but rather because they simply got a bit weary of it after a while. He spoke up about this and that and all sorts, and usually kept at it for half the night. ‘ _The Crops will be good this year_ ,’ or ‘ _we’re digging down a new level of the burrow_ ’ were the regulars, as they were with most bunnies. It was the kind of gentle talk over a ploughman’s and a Saturday afternoons drink that all the other farmers would do. The Thumpers, the Lops, the Whitefoots and pretty much every other Bunny family would have the same thing on their tongues at that stage. Indeed, after a long day of overseeing their respective burrows, there was nothing more that each one’s patriarch enjoyed more than nursing an imperial ouncer of beer and hearing how their colleagues were engaged in similar, but not quite the same, challenges. Naturally, however much they could talk about said subject, Stuart could talk ten-fold about it.

When it came to the war, he could talk twenty-fold about it.

Mentions of tactic ideas, crazy new weapons or plans so brilliantly obvious that the high brass was nuts for not thinking about it sooner abounded. Today it was time to talk about bombing defences for the major cities. “I mean, why don’t we just make barrage balloons with mile high cables or something?” he asked. “A whole fence of them, and the bombers will have to go a crazy way around, and run out of fuel, or so high they lose all their fuel on the way up!”

“Calm down Stu,” one of the fellow farmers, a certain Richard Warren, warned. “I’m sure there’s a very good reason.”

“Which is…?” Stuart asked, opening his arms out as he invited an answer. He looked left and right at his friends, all sitting up on the nobbly wooden bar stools and drinking their beer from the local bar (and enjoying the perky young bunny barmaid as they did so).

“The cable,” another buck suggested.

“What about it Bill?” Stuart asked.

William ‘Bill’ Cottontail, another of Stuart's close friends, rolled his eyes before explaining. “The longer the cable, the heavier it is. Too heavy and the thing won’t get anywhere near as high as you want it to!”

Stuart chuckled slightly before countering. “You put one balloon on top of each other. Problem solved!”

“…No, I can’t think of a repose to that,” agreed a third, chuckling, voice. It appeared that Paul Skipson had had a little too much to drink.

“Anyway, I’m afraid that brilliant insights like that will be coming to an end in a short while,” Stu proudly said.

“How come?” Richard asked, smiling. “Finally started brewing your own beer? It’ll be a happy day for you then, though for the pub not so much I think.”

“Oh no,” Stuart sadly said. “Still trying to sort out the plumbing. It seems to be a thing us Hopps’ are cursed with, a lack of plumbing skills.”

“And pride!” Paul joked, as he took another deep mouthful of his drink.

“Well, I’ll be giving us Hopps’ a bit of a reason to be proud, if I don’t say so myself,” Stuart boasted.

“And why’s that?” Bill asked.

“I’m enlisting.”

.

.

_SMASH…_

The silence was shattered as Paul’s glass broke on the tile floor.

The barmaid groaned and wandered off to grab a dustpan and brush. All the other farmers just gaped at him, up until Paul began laughing.

“HA… HA … HA… Good one Hopps! You almost had me convinced, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he agreed, “though that just means I’ll have to put a bit more effort in. Then again, telling you when you’re in this state was probably not the best idea.”

Paul’s jaw dropped down as the realization set in. Richard, meanwhile, had finally found his voice. “You’re enlisting…?”

“Yes.”

“In… the army?”

“Well I’m scared of heights and can’t swim for the life of me,” he said, “so army it’ll be.”

Richard was unconvinced. “You…”

“Yes.”

“Army….”

“Yes.

“In a war…”

Stuart shrugged. “Well, there is one going on. It’s not as if I haven’t seen a paper in the last four months or listened to the news is it? Heck, I remember listening to the declaration of war on the radio.”

“But… but…” Paul began to slur. “The last time I had a team of pine martens and such from the city to pick the apples in my orchard, or a team of elephants to help with a barn, you locked yourself in your burrow and didn’t come out till they’d left.”

“I didn’t lock my doors either time. I merely wished to maintain a respectful distance,” Stuart clarified.

“The edge of my orchard is half a mile from your burrow! Pine martens have little itty-bitty claws…”

“But an elephant not looking where he’s going can easily finish me off before I know what’s happening,” the portly brown bunny pointed out.

Paul blinked a few times, before carrying on. “That’s an accident! Knitler actively wants to kill us, and the Cud Reich has artillery! Dive-bombers! Bombs! Tanks! Guns and bullets!”

“And lets face it Hopps,” Bill cut in, “you’re not the bravest in the world, are you? I mean, if you weren’t so timid around predators then your father in law wouldn’t have chosen you for your wife. I mean, Otto Hopps…”

“Tuppence in the swear-jar,” the barmaid called out, with Bill grumbling under his breath and complying. Few had been sad when Otto Hopps had passed. Like Stuart he was not someone of few words, and most of his words were very unsavoury, particularly towards predators. He had often made the pub a place of bitterness and anger, hence why uttering his name was treated as a far greater crime than your standard swear word.

“I get that he mistook my general caution towards our fine Zootopian predators as a rancid hatred, or at least as close as he could find in this more enlightened day and age,” Stuart said. “I also get that he likely ignored my equally general caution to any big mammal that might pose a stomp risk, in doing so perpetuating this myth that we’re pred haters, which is nonsense. I mean, I play cribbage with a weasel don’t you know! But you know what? Given what a lovely Bunny I was getting, even if he made me give up my name, I was fine with those small sacrifices.”

“You’re trying to avoid talking about the war, and how you’re now going to be in it,” Paul slurred.

“I was getting to that,” Stuart replied. “The way I see it, anyone in the right age bracket is likely to be called up. I’ve still got four years to go until I’m over the big four-zero and out. The way I see it, you can join up early and get a nice safe position, riding the war out behind the front line before getting your discharge and all the benefits.”

“And where is this cushy little safe position?” Bill asked.

“Logistics,” Stuart explained. “I’ve got experience running a giant farm, and the recruiting officer agreed that I’d be an ideal helper in logistics. Sending rations and munitions from warehouses to the relevant places on the front. It’s in solid writing, I’ll be away from the front and doing office work. I’ll be leaving for basic training in a week, and should be out in Furance by the end of April. As for the Reich, well the Mareginot line will easily keep them out.”

Bill blinked a little, before a smile grew across his face. Richard and Paul both had ones as well. They all descended into chuckles, patting Stuart on the back while ordering more beer for him. Jokes about how he shouldn’t worry them like that in the future abounded, and as they progressively got merrier, a glowing pride took over. By the end of the night, the three Bucks had all told Stuart how proud they were that he’d almost got a little bored and a tad bit annoyed of it. Sadly, he was too inebriated to realise that this was very similar to what he subjected his friends to on the lion’s share of nights at the pub.

.

.

* * *

.

.

_June, 1940._

.

Henry Hopps, the oldest son of Bonnie and Stuart Hopps, came home to find his mother holding a letter in front of her.

She’d been crying.

A wave of fear came over him too, a feeling so dark and mirthful that nothing he could ever remember came close. The whole house had been dangerously silent for several weeks now, desperate for news.

He knew that it had come, and the fate of his father with it.

But then his sudden pang of dread vanished as he saw the faintest of smiles on her face. A little slimmer of hope against the general despair.

“Mum,” he said slowly, as he walked over to comfort her. “What’s happened?”

“They’ve tracked down Stuart,” she said. “Well, more the enemy did. He… he was captured. But he’s safe. He’s safe.”

 He felt relief flood through him. Ever since the distribution centre his father had worked at had been cut off from the rest of the Zootopian army by the Reich’s panzer divisions, his fate had been unknown.

Not anymore.

Henry walked forward and held his mother tight, hugging her as she cried into him. Through her sobs, Bonnie never felt the soft embrace of her son. She just wanted to cry out her stress and tears, before getting on with the day to day business of helping to run the farm. He though, wanted to make her feel safe and warm just like she’d done to him when he was a kit.

It felt a bit awkward, but it seemed to do the job.

Her shakes slowed down, her sniffles became a slow breathing and she began to stand up.

Henry interrupted her. “I have some news,” he announced.

“Go on?” Bonnie asked tentatively.

“Given the fall of Furance, the ministry of war is stepping up the evacuations,” Henry began, only to be cut off as a gentle paw was placed over his mouth.

“I know what to do then,” Bonnie said with a warm smile. She stood up firmly, before brushing herself down. “Looking after a new little one will certainly put my mind at rest, for a while at least.”

“That sounds good,” Henry agreed. “Apparently there’ll be several trains coming over the next few weeks, the first arriving tomorrow, and, given the size of the farm, the ministry expects us to have at least half a dozen children under our care once the last one has come.”

The young buck looked on as his mother smiled and nodded. “I say we pick up one or two tomorrow, given that it’s short notice, and then do about the same for each new train. Gives us a chance to settle them in. In any case, I’ll be hard pressed in getting a room for one ready by tomorrow.”

“Need a paw?” Henry asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Bonnie replied. “You help out with the farm. Doing this myself will help clear my mind.”

“Are you sure, I…”

“How about you tell everyone the news about father,” the doe suggested.

Henry nodded, before pulling his mother into a quick hug before leaving. She thumped her foot a few times before looking around a bit. “Right,” she told herself. “Work to be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who've read the dark version of this will know that it was originally Otto, not Stu, in the pub scenes. Otto is dead in this fic, and even when alive was likely only half as bad as the monster in the Halloween version. By and large here, he was the 'embarrassing relative' of the Hopps family, with the current generation likely being at the same kind of predisposition as they were in the feature film.
> 
> The bit about Stu giving up his name is a reference to how in the film, when Judy is wrapping some carrots in a newspaper, the text mentions Bonnie being Otto Hopp's youngest daughter.
> 
> A ploughman's lunch tends to be made of bread, British cheeses (Cheddar, Stilton, Gloucester, Red Leicester, Cheshire etc.) and beer (usually an ale) at the very least, often with some onions added. However a variety of salad materials, along with cold meats (maybe replaced by dried and smoked fish for preds), fruits, eggs and pickled foodstuffs (pickles, pickled eggs, picked beetroot and pickle mixes) are also often added in. In the dark version of this story, there's a mention of 'Ramston pickle', a pun on (delicious) Branston pickle which is a pickled chutney of various vegetables, first sold in 1922. Interestingly, while the basic ploughman's has been recorded at least as far back as the 14th century, the name was only coined in the 1950's as part of an advertisement push.
> 
> While the above were being talked about in peacetime, by 1940 rationing of sugar, meats and butter had been enacted, though this likely wouldn't affect the Bunnies. Indeed, most fresh fruits and vegetables, along with potatoes, fish and bread (though bakers could only make hardy wholegrain loaves) didn't get rationed during the war, though fish prices did rise. Ironically, bread and potatoes did get rationed after the war by the Atlee government after bad weather damaged harvests and stores respectively. It's hard to say how rationing would work in Zootopia, given the huge variety of mammals and diets. For instance dairy products and eggs, if only consumed by preds (10% of the pop), may not have required rationing. 
> 
> The Mareginot line is, of course, a reference to the Maginot line in France, built along the German border to keep them out. Quite famously, the Germans solution to this formidable obstacle was to go around it, charging their panzer divisions in a blitzkrieg attack straight through the Ardennes forest. The British expeditionary force where surrounded and evacuated from Dunkirk, though many (including Stu here) were lost in the fighting and captured.
> 
> I'm afraid that this, even for this fic's standards, was a short chapter. Hopefully the authors notes made it up a bit. However things will get moving in the next one when we're introduced to Nick. Hope you're enjoying it all, and tune in next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few comments for the previous chapters were worried about Stu. Being the equivalent of a British soldier in a German POW camp, he'd be fine as long as he behaved himself (which I see him doing). If he were a predator, he'd officially be treated the same (going on the treatment of british jews) but undoubtedly be treated a lot harder (given smaller rations, much harder tasks, insulted and harassed more, etc.)

**Preparations and Farewells.**

.

It was late in the evening, in one of the oldest rooms of the burrow, and Bonnie Hopps was busy at work. Hospitality had been taught to her since the time she could walk, and surely taking in a stranger in need was the highest test that could be given of this. Her heart went out to whoever it was who was leaving their parents behind in the big city, to shelter here for the war. Then again, she’d heard horror stories of life in some of the slums. Crowded terraces, multiple families to a single outside toilet and who knew what else. Worst of all was the fleas and mange. In the town hall, she’d always organised bake sales to help fund new rounds of de-lousing here and there. Of course, a good few years back it would have always been for the ‘prey slums’, as per father’s orders. While father had taught her that preds were violent and foxes red as they were made by the devil, she didn’t really see why they didn’t deserve de-lousing too.

She hadn’t really seen why she should have to do a lot of things her father had ordered, not when most other local families generally got on well with both the resident predator population and the travelling workers.

.

_…Generally…_

.

But still, a screaming child was a screaming child whatever their species and whatever their past deeds, and her heart told her that charity should spread across species boundaries. One occasion stood out to her in her memory. When she’d once heard screams from one of the fields, she’d ran across it with a primal concern in her heart. When it turned out that Gideon Grey, a particularly nasty Fox some of her own children had run into on many occasions, was the source, Bonnie hadn’t been affected in the slightest. She’d patched up the bruises, cuts and even a gore wound from a horn, before taking him home to his parents. After that, she’d stayed somewhat in contact with Mrs Grey for a bit, and while she couldn’t be sure she felt that the opportunity to voice her concerns to the parent of the source of much of the community’s trouble had had some major effects for the better.

Apparently, he’d baked some rather fine cakes for the last charity event, before rationing cut off the supplies. The thought had come to her that, if her father was still alive, he’d be railing about how they were poisoned.

She shook her head to dismiss the train of thought, and pushed the memory of him further away. While distraught when he’d passed, every passing year turned the lingering grief in her heart into a strange mix of distasteful emotions towards him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. So Bonnie busied herself with her work, until an energetic voice interrupted her.

.

“Need some help?”

.

Bonnie stood upright before turning down to the new voice. She smiled to herself as she saw one of her most notable daughters standing next to her. “That would be lovely Judy, thank you,” she answered, her mind having warmed to the idea as her arms had tired. “Could you fold those sheets and put them away?”

Judy got to work as Bonnie turned back to the matter at hand. Ideally, they’d be getting a mammal that was similar in size to a bunny or smaller. She knew she was being selfish wishing for a mouse or rat or something, but maybe a squirrel or groundhog? She quite like the idea of a sheep, though she knew that that was even more selfish. She’d always enjoyed knitting, and had been doing it more frequent to relieve all the stress the war was causing her, what with rationing, increased production requirements and, of course, knowing her dearest and many of her other relatives were out there. A local source of wool would be ideal, particularly given the sheep land girls who’d arrived to take over much of the manual work kept it all for themselves.

“Is this where the city kid is going to sleep?” Judy asked, as she lumbered over to a draw, her paws filled with sheets.

“Yes, it is,” Bonnie replied.

“Why isn’t he getting the guestroom?” she asked.

“Well,” Bonnie began, only to pause, trying to find the right words. “We don’t quite know what kind of mammal he’s going to be. He might be a bit smaller, might be a bit larger. So, because he might be too large for the guestroom, I thought we’d give him this room. Same for all the others who come later.”

“Because we don’t need it anymore,” Judy said.

“That’s right,” Bonnie replied sadly. She looked around, her eyes lingering on the bed she’d spent many tired nights on, along with the surrounding cribs. It was the birthing room, where she’d given birth and raised all her kits, Judy included, for the first few days of their lives. After that, when they had their names and she knew nothing bad was going to happen, she’d move them into one of the proper nurseries. Ever since Stuart had volunteered she’d felt a hole in her heart, her motherly instincts gnawing away. She loved all her kits, but there was something very special about the very youngest. It was just her looking after them. She and them, before her elder children began taking over most of the work.

“You okay Mum?”

“Fine,” Bonnie lied, as she began grabbing the cribs and rolling them away. The windows were open, and as the room had the special privilege of being both overground and on a corner of the burrow, there was a brisk breeze coming through. She didn’t want her new visitor, whatever species he or she was, coping with the lingering smell of soiled nappies and stale air.

“Do you think I can be friends with her?”

“Or him?” Bonnie shot back.

“Or him!” Judy parroted.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bonnie replied. “You can tell them how much you helped to clean and tidy this room.” She sighed as she looked around. “I don’t think they’ll like all the baby murals, so once we know what they’re favourite colour is we can repaint everything and you and them can help.”

“And we can have a paint fight!”

Bonnie chuckled, before looking over to Judy. “That’s not very ladylike, is it?”

“I don’t want to be a lady!” Judy pouted back. “I want to be a fireman. Or a policeman. Or a soldier!”

“Oh Judy,” Bonnie said, as she went over to bring her daughter into a hug. She couldn’t help but feel concerned for her. All she wanted to do was go out and do things, making the world better or serving the king. If she were any other species or even in any other bunny family she’d support it. But she was _her_ child and she wanted to be selfish. Just for now. Just when she was weak.

“I know…” Judy whined. “I’m a bunny, I have to do bunny things…”

Bonnie turned back to look around the room. Clearing it out, it was big and it was light. It wasn’t below ground, as she knew some mammals hated that. She silently vowed to herself that whoever would be staying with her would have a wonderful time.

“Are you looking forward to this new kid?”

Bonnie smiled, turning down to face Judy. “Yes, I am,” she said back, before repeating it. “Yes, I am…” And she was. The same maternal instincts that had been deprived these last months would be filled in. She hoped that by the end of this, the child would love her as much as his real mum, and Judy and her other kids like brothers and sisters. After all, she was a Hopps, and one thing her father had told her many times which she didn’t consider hokum now was that hospitality was her biggest duty.

“Can I go pick him up from the station?” Judy asked.

“Ask Henry,” Bonnie replied. “He may take you there in the truck, and you can take him in when the train comes in.”

“I will!” Judy shouted back before racing off.

Bonnie smiled, before turning back to her work.

.

.

* * *

.

.

_The next day, in Zootopia._

.

.

“You’ll be good?”

“Yes, I will Mum,” Nicholas replied, nodding as hard as he could. His smile faded somewhat as he saw her own break, a few tears dripping down her face. She leant in and brought her paws around him, holding him tight.

“And you’ll write every week, and post the letter every Monday morning,” she said again, sniffing as she did so.

“And you’ll write back, and send me any news about Dad,” Nick replied. He’d had an adventurous grin on his face all the way to the station, but now as their separation got closer it was beginning to crack. He’d told himself that he was a brave Todd.

A grown up adult Todd, and that he wasn’t going to cry.

But seeing his mother begin to cry, all while what was about to happen was truly sinking in, it seemed like his eyes were having different plans. A faint misting grew over them as he began to cry too. He stepped forward and held her tight, burying his muzzle into her chest and silently telling himself that he was too grown up for this but never doing anything to stop.

When he’d been told that he’d be leaving the city because of the bombings, he’d been excited. He’d never been out of the city before, while the number of times he’d been out of Happytown itself could be counted on both paws. Learning that he’d be going to the country though had filled him up with a great sense of adventure, the sort he’d always got reading his scouting books and comics. He’d already imagined all the things he’d be doing, such as fishing and hiking and eating fresh fruit taken straight from the trees. He loved that he’d finally be having adventures just like Dad had been, ever since he joined the navy when war was declared.

But now, standing on the platform as huge crowds of mammals walked around, the other side of the coin was catching up. Every day of his life, he’d had one of his parents to talk to, to tell jokes to, to tell him jokes back in return, to hug and kiss him when he’d hurt himself and to cuddle next to on stormy nights. But now, he’d be alone for weeks or months, and he was already feeling very scared.

His mother, Mary, felt just the same way. No part of her wanted her precious child to be in the city, now that bombs were predicted to fall any day now. She told herself over and over that the fresh air and green space would do him a world of good, while he’d make new friends who’d last him a lifetime. But still, he was the tiny Kit she’d held in both paws for the first time eight years ago. His eyes closed, his tail short and as far from bushy as you could make it without being bald, all of his body covered in grey down that exposed his pink skin around his almost non-existent muzzle.

He’d grown so much since then, and she knew he could probably look after himself just fine, but she still felt her maternal instincts command her to protect him as if he were that helpless little thing. The idea of being unable to see him for months tore at her heart, while a dark part of her brain whispered fears about him falling into the paws of those mammals who did terrible things to young children, or those others who lived out in the country and still thought that they lived in the savage ages.

She shook her head at the last one. The cinemas had played the news clips of the terrible camps that had been set up by the Cud Reich, and the evil things that were going on. She’d gone most of her life without her species and it’s apparent ‘reputation’ coming up in any way that couldn’t be described as just being paranoid, while the way her country acted in defence of her fellow predators across the sea made her prouder to be a Zootopian than she’d ever been. ‘No,’ she told herself, ‘no-one’s going to hurt my little Nicky because he’s a Fox.’ But still, that left many other gnawing fears and worries, that came out in her tears.

The two foxes, a vixen and her kit, just held each other, rocking and crying as they waited, up until the shrill cry of one of the chaperone’s who’d be escorting them called them to attention. Mary stood up and dusted down her dress, while Nick did the same to his suit. It was the last thing his father had made for him before he left to start his training, and was both tough and warm enough for the country and smart enough so that no-one would think that he was a little ruffian or delinquent. John Wilde, and Mary, had always pushed Nick to read a new book every week and to help them with the maths that needed to be done when running their store. His teachers always said he was one of their favourite students, and his parents would have it no other way.

“I heard you’re going to Bunnyburrow,” Mary asked as she walked forward, following close behind the chaperone as they stepped onto the train platform. His paw was tight in hers, and hers tight in his, as they and a sea of other mammals approached the front of the train, ready to embark.

“I read about it, for you,” Nick replied back, trying to make her proud. “It’s two-hundred and… uh,”

“I don’t think you need to know exactly how far away it is.”

“Okay, I… Is that a Lord Bellson!?”

Nick’s sudden change in conversation woke Mary up from her emotional squalor, and she smiled as she saw her son look at the steaming locomotive on the front of the train. A smile grew on his face too and he pulled out a little book, which he always carried with him when he went walking about the city, before jotting down the numbers printed on the side of the engine. He turned back to face her and giggled. “Duke’s going to be so angry when I tell him I spotted one of those! It’s on the wrong railway and everything!”

Mary chose to forget that she’d told Nick not to hang out with that child, and nodded back. “Yes, he will be. Now remember, always be polite and remember to show those around you your name slip.”

Nick held up the little label that was attached around his neck in response, before letting go of his mother’s paw. Her head followed him and his head kept glancing back at her as he made his way towards one of the compartments on the coach, before jumping in. Already the guard, a large wolf with a strange eye, was coming down and slamming the doors shut behind the last of the entering children. Each one pounded shut, the sound echoing around the station, before he finished and stood next to the driver. Various mammals with clipboards looked at each other and nodded, before quietly informing him that everyone was aboard.

Two flags out and his whistle in his mouth, he signalled the all clear and blew.

A reply came from the other end of the train and the guard jumped into the open door of the leading carriage. The ghostly scream of the locomotives whistle screamed out, before it bellowed out a deep puff. There was a clatter as the chains between each carriage tightened, and the train began its long journey west. The windows of each door were open, and all the children were leaning out and waving. Mary, seeing Nick, waved back. Blowing a kiss, and with tears pouring out of her eyes, she watched her son begin to move. She, along with hundreds of others still on the platform, began walking along with it.

Eyes fixed on those of her little Kit, she kept up as much as she could until she reached the end of the platform, the train already beginning to speed past. She stood still, her paws to her heart, as she watched her precious Nicky disappear off into the distance.

.

.

The train out of sight, Mary stepped back and looked around. Zootopia central was one big hall covered by an arched roof which, when it had been new, had been crystal clear. But now, with years of use and cleaners a luxury that couldn’t be afforded in war time, it (and every other surface in the station) was greyed by black soot. Taking in a deep breath, she turned to begin the walk back to her house. Months before, it had been filled with the laughter of both her, her son and her husband. Now though, it was empty and cold. She’d only have an hour there, before she had to get back to work. Those army uniforms weren’t going to sew themselves.

She walked on, out from the platforms and onto the concourse. Already, new lines of mothers and children were assembling, ready to get on the next set of trains that arrived. Looking at them, she didn’t notice where she was going until she slammed into something. Falling painfully onto her tail, she looked up to see a confused looking giraffe, tearstains coming down from her eyes.

“Just come from the…” she began, trailing off as Mary nodded in return.

There was a pause, before Mary held onto the giraffe’s legs tight and burst into tears. She meanwhile sat down, her ungainly legs crossing around the tiny fox as she put her arms around Mary. Holding the vixen tight, just like the little toy doll her daughter had been grasping, she too let the tears flow out.

In a sea of mammals, two who were as different as could be shared a quiet moment of grief, each one knowing more about what the other was going through than anyone else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said before, this version of (the deceased) Otto Hopps is similar to that in a cut scene of the film (where the 'foxes are red as they were made by the devil' quote came from). Bonnie, while unconvinced, still has lingering issues, though getting to know a fox more (like with Gid) would do much to help her.
> 
> Given her fertility, and the difficulty in getting to rural hospitals, it makes sense for Bonnie to have a birthing room in the burrow. It would be high up, to let in natural light, and at a corner to enable cross ventilation and plenty of fresh air.
> 
> A general point I have with baby animals in my story is to depict them accurately. Newborn foxes look very different to the kinds of fox kits you'll see wandering about (which are toddler to child equivalent), and aren't nearly as cute. This is why, when people say human babies aren't as cute as animal babies, they're usually making an incorrect comparison.
> 
> Train spotting was a common pastime in this era, and given film Nick's bucket list including a victory toot-toot, you can't say it's out of character for this version to partake in it. The train being a Lord Bellson is reference to the Lord Nelson class locomotive, which were built for the southern railway. My version of Bunnyburrow will be semi-based off of Devon and Cornwall, which match the 200+ distance in the film, with Zootopia central thus being the semi-equivalent of Paddington station. It being GWR run, Nick's comment about the locomotive being on the wrong railway would be true, though a Bellson/Nelson running from Zootopia's equivalent of Waterloo station to Bunnyburrow wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Realistically though, no child would be evacuated this distance in WW2. Nick would be taken to somewhere in essex or the home counties, while Judy would receive kids from the Zoot equivalent of Plymouth, Exeter and Bristol. But where's the fun in that?
> 
> Finally, the name tags hanging off real life evacuees is arguably the most lasting image of the operation in public conscious.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for the minor delay, I was posting up a long term project of mine (Fault in our stars: A comprehensive review of Take a stand, stars of Ceartais) over on the zootopia reddit. If you're interested in story analysis, of that fic, why not check it out? https://old.reddit.com/r/zootopia/comments/8joccz/the_fault_in_our_stars_a_comprehensive_review_of/
> 
> .
> 
> In addition, after being deleted by the mods without warning, the fan-fic version of 'A lead role in a cage' is back up, and ready to update tomorrow.
> 
> .
> 
> Finally, if anyone doesn't like any of the lyrics that may come below, please refer to the authors note at the bottom of this page.
> 
> .

 

**. **

** Introductions. **

.

Nick’s journey had been fantastic so far. While he’d been upset at saying goodbye to his mother, he’d soon shaken his head and told himself that he was a big brave todd on an adventure! The carriage he’d been in had been full of other children, including his friend Finnick, who were all carrying their own books and comics and even a few precious sweets. While many of them had been sad at leaving their parents, just like he had been, they’d soon been joking and laughing and even singing. It helped that several of the kids had been in a church choir and, once they’d been taught some fun songs, everyone had joined along.

.

_Knitler… has only got, one, ball!_

_Goatling… has got two, but they’re ve-ry small…_

_Llamler… has something sim’lar!_

_But poor old Goatz has no balls at all._

_._

And when Nick said everyone, he meant everyone, or at least as close as you could get. The chaperone, the guard, the crew coming down the train to give everyone some food. The only person not singing was an annoying silver fox who had no friends as nobody liked him, and was angrily telling everyone that they couldn’t sing because of a sign he’s seen and that he’d tell on them.

Nick himself had only ever sung before in assembly at school and at church, and he’d always found it a chore. Here though, it lifted his spirits and made him smile. He thought to himself that this must be what the camp songs he’d read about in his scout’s book must be like. He’d been looking forward to joining his local troop, though the war and evacuation had put a stop to all that. A smile on his mouth and laughing out loud, he’d been waiting on the edge of his seat for the next song to start.

Already one of the choir boys, a wolf who’d howled at the end of the last song, was saying that he knew a funny song and was laying out the tune.

.

_“Dum… de-dum, dee-dum, de-yum… de-yum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dummm … de-um, de-yum, de-yum, de-dum, de-doo-dah…”_

_._

_“Mammals will please refrain,_

_From flushing toilets while the train,_

_Is standing in the station…”_

_._

Nick tried to sing, though he found it hard to as he giggled. Looking out of his compartment and into the corridor he spotted the chaperone, her eyes wide, jogging up to stop the song, probably after deciding it was just too rude. Still, there was time for the rest of the verse.

.

_“We encourage constipation,_

_While the train is in the station,_

_Moonlight always make me think of you…”_

.

The song stopped as the chaperone barged into the compartment in front of Nick’s and pounded on the wall, ordering the wolf to stop singing the song at once.

“Spoilsport,” came a mutter from Nick’s side, and he looked over to see Finnick pouting. All the other mammals on the train died down though as the tune was lost, bar the one of the silver fox.

“Ha, I told you it was against the rules!” he said out loud in a horribly smug and self-righteous voice, only for the chaperone to turn and shout at him.

“Venny, if I hear one more nasty word out of your mouth I’ll drag you down to the toilets and wash it out with soap!”

.

There was a brief moment of quiet, the only sound being the rattle of the carriages, before a new voice spoke up. “I know a good song, which I sing a lot.”

It was the wolf guard, who’d walked up the carriage and was right across from Nick. “I’ll go first and you lot follow, Okay?”

Nick and the other kids in his compartment nodded their heads, as did those in other parts of the carriage. The only objection was from Venny, who began screaming out and kicking. “Not fair! Rulebreaker! I’ll report you to…” He was cut off as the chaperone barged into his compartment and dragged him out by his paw. He was screaming and bawling, like a toddler having a temper tantrum, as he was taken away.

“I may not be allowed to grab your scruff young man, but at this rate I’ll make your behind look like a red foxes’…” the chaperone muttered as she walked past Nick, the fox in her paws screaming about how he was the good guy and stopping rule breakers.

…

“Okay then,” the wolf guard muttered, before clearing his throat. “From the top!”

.

“Whistle while you work…”

_‘Whistle while you work…’_

“Knitler is a twerp!”

_“Knitler is a twerp!”_

“He’s half barmy, so’s his army!”

_‘He’s half barmy, so’s his army!’_

“Whistle while you work!”

_‘Whistle while you work!’_

.

All the children burst into fits of laughter, before the choir boys and everyone else restarted the song.

.

_‘Whistle while you work,_

_Knitler is a twerp,_

_He’s half barmy, so’s his army!_

_Whistle while you work!’_

.

As the song ended, the guard turned around and headed back towards his compartment at the back of the train. Finnick was still half-singing the song and giggling as he did it, but Nick’s curiosity had suddenly piqued.

“I’m gonna see what the guards doing,” he said to his friends, before looking around and slipping off his seat. Leaving his compartment, Nick went out into the corridor, following the guard through carriage after carriage, door and door. Soon they were at the rear of the train and passing the doors into the rear toilets. Peeking in, Nick spotted the llama guard tightly holding Venny between her legs and pulling his long tongue far out, scrubbing up and down it with a soap covered brush. Leaving them behind, Nick skulked onwards, finally entering the luggage compartment at the very back of the train. Sneaking forward on his toe pads, careful to make no noise that could have been heard even if it weren’t for the rattle of the carriage, the curious kit slipped in and held his breath as he stared up at the large wolf’s back.

“You know I can smell you?”

Nick jolted out of his sly posture and stiffened up as the guard turned to face him. The little Kit’s ears drooping back and his tail lowering itself against the floor, he gulped as the huge guard looked over at him. “I’m… I’m… sorry sir, I,” Nick tried to say, only stuttering, before the wolf interrupted him.

“Don’t really see anything for you to be sorry about.”

Nick immediately relaxed and smiled, knowing he wasn’t in much trouble, before looking around.

“So, this is where you work?”

The rear cabin was relatively empty, though there were several piles of luggage stored here and there. Like Nick, most children were carrying all their luggage with them, although unlike him with his suitcases they wrapped everything up in parcel paper or old newspapers. In one corner of the cabin, by a window, was a large lever, some cupboards and a seat which the wolf was settling down into.

“’Bout right,” he chuckled, as he patted his lap. Nick hopped up onto him and watched as his paws opened the window. After a quick peak out, he smiled and waved to it, and Nick peered out as well. The roar of the wind was flowing past and, as Nick’s head peered out, his ears and fur were flattened as the gale hit them. His eyes flinching closed, he managed to open them slightly and look forward. The train was racing along a corner, the sight of the locomotive clear in the distance. Nick kept on looking at it, and the great plume of smoke and steam streaming from it, up until a sudden pain stabbed him in the eye.

“YIP!” Nick cried as he ducked back in and rubbed his eyes furiously. Blinking a few times, he cussed under his breath until the pain stopped, before glaring up at the chuckling guard.

“Bit of soot,” the wolf said with a shrug. “Get it all the time working on the trains.”

“Oh,” Nick muttered back.

“Why, Oh?” the guard asked, and Nick looked up at him and smiled.

“I want to be an engine driver when I grow up!” Nick proudly said.

The wolf smiled, chuckling as he rubbed Nick’s head. “So, did I! I know plenty of nocturnal mammals like you who work on the night trains, or on the track crews or in signalling. The railways can’t get enough of them!”

“Are you going to be one soon?”

The wolf paused slightly, before sighing and pointing at his unfocussed eye. “Cricket ball put paid to that dream. If you want to play a sport with your new people up wherever you’re staying, try and avoid that one.”

“Oh,” Nick replied, before putting one of his paws on his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

The guard shrugged, before smiling. “It’s really not that bad. I enjoy my job, and here, I’ll show you how all this works and all my tools.”

“REALLY!?” Nick asked, as the Wolf nodded back.

.

.

* * *

 

.

.

The truck shook and rumbled as it drove down the road towards the station. Behind it, a great cloud of both dust and oily smoke was being kicked up, the latter a given considering that fuel rationing had led to a shortage of diesel. Still, being on both a farm and in a family of several hundred had its advantages, including enough used cooking oil to permit a few pleasure runs here and there. However they were a lot rarer than before, which only increased the novelty.

Judy loved sitting in the truck as it drove along. Beside her, Henry Hopps was grunting and straining, his paws rapidly pulling one way or the other on the steering wheel as he kept the truck going forward in a straight line. Everything shook with the vibration of the engine and the skitter of the wheels as they passed over the bare ground.

“What kind of mammal is he going to be?” Judy asked, as she looked up and smiled at her bigger brother.

“A fine, young, clever one!” he said back, keeping his eyes pinned to the road. Judy glared slightly in response, not that he could see it.

“Do you know what type?” Judy asked again. “As in what species?” She’d read about and seen pictures of all sorts of different mammals in the big city of Zootopia, many of which she’d never seen before. Giant elephants and tall giraffes and gazelles and moose and hippos and rhinos and all sorts. There were also the predators, which she really didn’t know much about.

Back when she was younger, her Pop-Pop had always warned her about them. How they were evil, how they used to eat mammals like her and how they still wanted to. He talked at great lengths about the worst of the worst. Foxes. The red devils as he called them, who were sneaky and cruel. Who would ruin the lives of everyone they could sweettalk, and who were vain and untrustworthy.

In school though, her teachers had been teaching her something very different. She’d learnt there that predators had long ago stopped eating other mammals and were no more likely to ‘chomp’ than a sheep or bunny; while also hearing warnings and sad tales of poor predators rounded up and attacked for no good reason in the Cud Reich. Of how, in such places, mobs of savage prey went from town to town to kill and maim, tearing up families, and treating them more like bugs than mammals.

Always conflicted before his death, Judy had chosen to find out the truth herself after her grandfather’s passing. There were at least a few predators in the area, and a large number would come in to help with the harvest every year. She’d been able to talk to a few, and learn some things, but still wasn’t quite sure on what exactly they were like. All she really knew was that they could be mean, but no more worse than other prey mammals. One Fox, Gideon Grey, had certainly lived up to the ‘red devil’ moniker and had bullied many of the smaller children including her, despite her many attempts to stand up to him. But if anything, she’d been even more scared of Doug, a ram who was equally as mean as Gideon, and who enjoyed throwing water or flour all over others and just laughing at them. In any case, while Gideon had at least calmed down a lot a year or so ago, Doug had carried on and got worse and worse. Thus Judy came to the conclusion that there must be ‘good’ predators and ‘bad’ predators and ‘bad’ prey and ‘good’ predators, and that it was up to her to find out whether a mammal was one or the other.

.

“I said, I don’t know yet,” Henry eventually replied, breaking Judy out of her train of thought. Judy sighed, looking out of the window instead. They’d finally left the dirt track and were on the hard road now, moving along as they approached the station. Along her side ran two whitewashed fences, a single set of rails snaking through in between. Soon, they were passing the tall mast of a set of signals, as the streak of a much larger set of tracks began to appear in the distance. There were other mammals too, walking or driving along the road, all coming to pick up the city children. Finally, the soft rumble of tarmac under the wheels turned into the crunch of gravel as the truck slowly stopped in front of the worn wooden station. The engine turned off and there was the click of the door as Henry got out. Judy followed him, jumping out of her side of the truck before quickly feeling the tap of paws on her shoulder. Her brother was making her way over to the station building and Judy followed. Glancing to the side she noticed the Grey family off in the distance, Gideon among them. She kept her eyes on him, wondering whether or not he was up to any mischief. Many of her friends and siblings had agreed that once a bully, always a bully. Still, he did seem like he was trying to be sorry.

Her thoughts trailed off as she was walked into the station. Past the end of a small platform that attached to the little branch line, a small tank engine steaming in place with two bored looking donkeys in the cab, and then up the steps and through the doors. She was led past the ticket office and through the waiting room, all the old travel posters replaced with ones that warned her not to talk about army secrets or to save fuel and food, before they exited onto the platform.

Many more mammals were there, including the leaders of all the big farms in the region. Many had one or two of their elder kids with them and were just waiting around and talking. Several other bunnies wandered up to Henry, joining him as they met with some kind of official with a clipboard, and they quickly starting conversations about boring adult stuff. Things about how many evacuees each was taking and when, crop harvests, trouble with the land girls who’d come in from the city to help in the fields, issues with supply shortages and all manner of other things she couldn’t understand. There were many other words about how sorry they were that her father had been captured by the enemy.

Her ears drooped at that one.

She had been beyond happy to know that he was still alive, but she still missed him. She hoped this dreadful war would be over soon, and she’d be able to run up to him and hug him, and him hug her back.

A paw came around her side and pulled her in tight, before a soft kiss was placed on her temple. She looked up to see Henry looking down, a sad expression on his face, before he looked up at the other bunnies in attendance.

“…And that’s why we agreed that you can get first pick, given the sacrifice your family has made,” one of them said.

“Thank you,” Henry replied. “Though I’ll likely just ask the children’s chaperone which one is the nicest.”

Henry and the other mammals carried on talking about boring adult stuff and Judy lost interest. Slipping out of his paw, she squatted down on her feet and looked out across the train tracks. Four sets of two metal rails separated her from the other main platform, which was empty of mammals. Attached to it was another little platform, facing the other way, and as she peered over she just about saw a small track leading from it and disappearing off into the fields beyond. The adults were  _still_ talking about boring stuff so Judy, waiting for the right moment, gently tapped Henry’s leg before saying she was going to sit up on the bridge. He rolled her eyes and waved her off, though not before ordering her to come down the moment she saw the train coming. Judy nodded, before hopping off. Up the stairs and onto the little bridge that spanned the tracks. She walked until she was halfway across before she sat down, dangling her legs through some gaps in the metal and letting them swing in the wind. In front of her, the two outer tracks merged into the two inner ones, as did those behind her, and the twin tracks then sailed off, together, into the distance as they gleamed in the sun.

.

.

* * *

 

.

.

Nick had spent at least an hour talking to the guard. He’d told Nick about all the jobs he had to do and showed him all his equipment. Flags, whistles, the detonators and sand buckets. As they stopped at some of the stations, he let Nick signal to the engine driver with the flags, before talking more about all the things he’d seen and stories he’d heard. Nick had listened to every bit of it, half the time interrupting to tell the guard about what he knew, which was almost always correct. The minutes whittled along, as stories were told from both sides and jokes spun.

“PREGNANT!” the guard shouted out, laughing at the punchline to one of the fox kit’s many jokes. Snorting, he wiped the end of his nose with a finger before standing up. “We’ll be approaching Bunnyburrow before too long,” he said. “So, I think you’ll want to get back up to the front.”

“Yes sir,” Nick replied, as the guard stood up and led the way. Walking back up to Nicks carriage near the front of the train, they bumped into the chaperone in the corridor. The Llama looked down at Nick, before the guard interrupted.

“It’s a shame that he’s being evacuated out here. He’s a real sport, you know that!”

“I trust that he hasn’t been an issue then?” she asked, to which the Wolf nodded. “Probably the nicest kid you’ve got,” he replied as he handed Nick back over to her.

“Well, thanks for keeping him out of trouble then.”

The two mammals nodded and turned away, Nick carrying on back to his compartment. Opening the door, he leapt onto his still empty seat and began gathering up his luggage.

“How much trouble you in?”

Nick’s eyes went wide, and he turned to face Finnick. “Trouble?”

“Yeah,” Finnick shot back. “What else were you gone for?”

“I wasn’t in trouble,” Nick said back. “The guard showed me around and even let me blow the whistle and wave the flags!”

Finnick blinked a few times, before just shaking his head, shrugging and looking away. Nick, meanwhile, checked both of his suitcases. The locks were still on and, since he had the keys in his suit, he knew all his things were safe. The other children were getting louder and, looking out of the window, Nick saw rolling fields going past along with the flash of a large bunny shaped sign.

.

.

* * *

 

.

.

Meanwhile, up on the bridge, more and more children were setting up with Judy. Talking, joking, looking out into the distance. There was a soft huff at one stage as a little tank engine steamed towards the other side of the station on the branch line. It was only carrying a few wagons of goods, and it quickly crossed over the four tracks in the station and onto the other side, where it joined the other branch and carried on, on its way. After that, there was a quiet for a short while before, all of a sudden, all the children got up and raced down, screaming that the real train was coming. Everyone went silent and peered over the platform, as the heavy huffing of an express approached.

Judy stood on the edge of the platform, bouncing up and down on her two feet. Looking to her right, her ears tilting so that they could focus on the sound of the engine, she spotted the cloud of smoke off in the distance. It grew as the train got closer and closer, the sight of a dirty steam engine now clear in view. Two sharp whistles cut through the air, the sound of not only the pistons but also the rattle of the wheels on the track now clearly ringing out. Judy had a huge grin on her face as the train rumbled past, steam hissing and spitting out as the wheels slowly ground to a halt. The driver gave the crowd a long whistle as it went, before the rattle of the carriages followed. Dresses fluttered and even a few hats were carried off heads in its wake. Still, more lines of carriages went by. All covered in coal dust and grime, but from the sight of it packed with screaming and hollering children. Kits, kids, cubs, lambs, calves, pups and all sorts, all pulling their windows down to wave and shout.

“Hi there!” Judy shouted, jumping up and waving back at them. There was a soft squeal as the whole thing shuddered and, with a last metallic shriek coming out as the breaks were closed, the whole thing ground to a halt. For the first time, Judy got a good look through the windows and realised just how many different types of mammal there were. She saw different types of canines, many that she’d never even seen a picture of before. Some had golden fur, which she guessed meant they were jackals. Others had fur that was painted in lots of beautiful shades of brown, orange, white, black and red. Then there were some big cats. She couldn’t help but feel nervous as she saw both some lions and some tigers, the first time she’d even seen those species in the fur. Further along, and already getting out, there was a huge hippo. He looked younger than she did, but he was still larger than pretty much all the mammals around bar the horses. As he got out, the guard who’d unlocked their doors jogged along with his keys and the clicking of door locks rang out as the other compartments emptied. She and Henry shuffled back, letting them have plenty of space to get out and stretch their legs. She looked up to him and smiled.

“Which one are we taking?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replied back, as he scanned around for the childminder. “Though that hippo would be very useful on the farm, albeit a bit worrying given the state of some of the floor joists. Let’s just find whoever was looking after them.” After a moment he spotted her, a llama, at the back, talking to the guard who’d brought the train in and had just got back from unlocking the doors. “Hello! Hello there!”

Her ears picked up and she turned to face him. “Yes?”

“I am Henry Hopps,” he said introducing himself. “I’m here to represent the Hopps family farm and, as per an agreement given my father’s current state as a POW, I’ve been allowed to pick the smartest, most adept mammal that you brought with us. Do you understand?”

“Uh, yes,” she said after a bit. “Do you understand that I’ve only known these children for the last few hours or so? I may not be…”

“Even if it’s just a hunch,” Henry replied.

“What about Nicholas?”

Both the Llama, Henry and Judy turned to face the new voice, as the guard turned to face him. Judy stared at his strange left eye. It didn’t focus on anything, instead it just drifted in its socket, and straight away she could guess that he was blind in it.

“I don’t see why not,” the Llama announced, snapping Judy’s attention away from the wolf. “I mean, he seemed very nice and curious. Better than any other hunch to go on I guess.”

“Great!” Henry shouted. “Got any paperwork or…”

“Right here,” she replied, fetching out a clipboard with all sorts of forms on it. “It makes sense. We’re either going to do this slowly and take hours, or we could make a headway in sorting these poor kids out.”

Presenting Henry with the right form and a pen, he signed immediately, before handing the documents back and smiling. “So, where is he?”

“Here sir!”

Henry’s ears rose, and he looked down the platform. He smiled as he waited for the kid to emerge from the sea of moving mammals, only for that smile to soften somewhat as he laid eyes on the smiling kit that stepped forward. Dressed in a hardy fabric suit, and with two little suitcases in each paw, he had green eyes, pointed black ears and russet red fur.

“Oh, uh…” Henry said, “I was looking for Nicholas, perhaps you misheard?”

The kit looked around, before shrugging. “My name is Nicholas sir. Friends call me Nick. Nick Wilde…”

“And the other Nicholas?”

The child’s eyes widened. “I think I’m the only one sir, or at least…”

“Is this the child you were referring to?” he asked the Llama, who nodded as she reached down to her documents and opened up the one he’d just sign. Henry peeked in, poking his claw out to reveal Red Fox as the species under Nicholas’ name. “Yes,” she slowly said. “But…” She trailed off, unsure about what to say.

Henry was quiet for a bit too, looking around, before shrugging. “Well, I guess I’m the fool for not reading all the documents. It’s a bit… unorthodox… But if you’re right, I see no problem.”

“Very good,” the chaperone said, stepping forward as the wolf started jogging behind her, closing the doors as he went. “I need to sort out everyone else now, so I hope you three will get on just fine. I’ll be checking up in a week or so, so see you then!”

She trotted past, making her way to the station building. Already, inside, some other mammals had brought out a set of forms and children were being allocated to new families. Henry, taking one of the fox’s suitcases, stood up and led the way forward. Judy skipped along next to him, with the fox trotting along behind her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello,” Judy replied, looking back at him. “My name’s Judy. And you’re a fox.”

Nick looked at her, his head tilting sharply to the side. “I know I am,” he replied. “And you’re a bunny.”

Judy looked forward again, wondering what exactly the future would hold for them.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The first song the children sing is based after the real life one about Hitler, who most records do show as lacking a testicle (due to an injury in the battle of the Somme). It’s sung to the music of the colonel Bogie march theme, which was written in 1914 but is most widely know for its use in ‘The Bridge over the river Kwai’. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83bmsluWHZc 
> 
> The origin of the lyrics is unknown, but believed to be from lyricist Toby O’Brian, though this is unsubstantiated. No one has ever attempted to claim copywrite on the lyrics, thus no copywrite issues exist. This is before they’re animalised, thus removing them further from any issue. Interestingly, there is a little known and seldom used introduction verse, arranged to the tune of ‘Land of hope and glory’.
> 
> In a similar vein, the next song (sung to the tune of Dvorak’s Humoresque 7) also has no ascribed author or copywrite, being a joke song. It’s a reference to the common rule of not flushing a train’s toilets while in a station, due to them emptying straight onto the track at that point in time. Modern trains now use tanks, removing this issue.
> 
> The third song, whistle while you work, was originally in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, released in 1937. The WWII version(s) were children’s parodies, though this particular set of lyrics was made most famous by ‘Dad’s Army’. This is thus both uncopywrited, and in fact a fair use quote from Private Pike (even before it’s Zootopiafied). At this point in time, watching this is mandatory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1HwKA0J-gU
> 
> Being an engine driver was seen as the premier career at the time, for boy’s at least, and it’s still popular today. A recent advertisement by Virgin East Coast for 78 new drivers received 15,000 applicants. Back then, though, there would be many more driver jobs along with a vastly wider selection of other roles. Signalling, firemen, guards, labourers etc. It makes sense that those with good night vision would be valued on the railways. 
> 
> The posters Judy saw in the station are standard propaganda posters, which were distributed across the UK (with the USA having its own versions when it entered the war). While many examples exist, the most famous has to be ‘Keep calm and carry on’. Ironically, it was little used in the war, being kept in reserve for serious disasters and only being rediscovered and popularised in the year 2000.
> 
> Even today, trains may carry automatic sand dispensers that can deploy to give the wheels extra grip. Detonators are small explosive charges that are to be placed on rails if there’s a blockage on the track (or in some cases deployed via a lever on a signal box). The aim is to warn drivers of trains of the blockage ahead by creating a loud noise when run over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning for those waiting for 'A lead role in a cage' to update tomorrow, I haven't had the proofed chapter returned yet. It may arrive on time, it may come late and, if it doesn't arrive, I'll probably put up the unproofed chapter.

**Arrivals:**

 

The trip back to the burrow was quiet, tense and altogether not what Judy had been expecting. She’d imagined that she’d be striking up an immediate friendship with the new member of the family. That he’d fill her in with tales of the city. What was going on, what it was like and all sorts of stories detailing his exploits, which make her humdrum life on the carrot farm pale into comparison.

The fact that they’d received a fox of all mammals had certainly been a surprise, one that it seemed her brother Henry had yet to get over. His eyes were set firmly forward on the dirt track in front of them and her home, which had just come into view. She did, however, spot him giving the occasional glance down at the Kit sitting by her, as if making sure that he wasn’t creating havoc or plotting something in the meantime. The only fox that Judy had ever had any real experience with was Gideon Grey, and while he’d certainly been a terrible thug (up until he was sullied a fair deal in his accident), she could tell that this one didn’t carry any of the intimidating presence that she’d been familiar with. He was a lot thinner, both in terms of muscle, fat and fur, but also far better kempt. Despite hearing horror stories about how city residents were all covered in soot and ridden with mange, his fur was clean, glossy and well groomed. His clothes certainly weren’t the poshest she’d ever seen, but they looked a lot more respectable than what most of her family wore and, should they be presented to her mother, they would certainly be given the thumbs up as church-wear. As for what he was like, Judy had no idea. He was currently sat up in his seat, his neck stretched up and his head jerking about this way and that as he scanned the surroundings. While she was no expert on fox body language, the way his ears stuck up and swivelled about reminded her of the many times that members of her family had found something interesting and stood alert. Was he curious?

Judy guessed that he’d be just as interested in the country as she was in the city. If he was, then Judy guessed he’d get bored very quickly, given how little there was that was interesting on the farm.

On the other paw, could he be planning something naughty? A small part of her, crying out in the voice of her late grandfather, was that he, like all foxes, was up to something evil. Planning or scheming or who knew what? She tried to shake it out of her head, given how she’d learnt that the whole point of this war was to stop terrible mammals who had similar ideas to her Pop-Pop. Still though, she couldn’t help but see how he’d seemingly focussed on something, and was beginning to sniff intently. Judy’s nose started to twitch with worry as his lips parted, revealing rows of razor sharp, baby killing…

“Are those blueberries?”

Judy blinked a few times at the question, before turning her head to look out of her window. They were driving up the last stretch of the drive, already passing some of the outer storage barns, and the great fields of carrots, potatoes, corn and alfalfa had given way to smaller orchards and plots, one of which indeed contained a large set of blueberry bushes.

.

…

“Trudy? Are those…”

“It’s Judy,” she sternly corrected, her nose irately twitching as she did so.

“Sorry,” the fox replied, his eyes widening and ears drooping as he spoke.

 

For a moment Judy was reminded of the looks on some of the younger siblings she’d caught in the middle of some naughty act, such as stealing from the cookie jar, and her irritation at him faded.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “and those were blueberries.”

“Really? Can I have some. I love Blueberries! Before the war my mother always bought me some whenever we went shopping.”

Judy smiled back. “I guess so,” she said. “As long as you help pick them. It’s not as if you can eat the whole lot, is it?”

“I… Uh…” he began to say, before Henry interrupted them.

“We'll, we’re here,” he announced, as he turned off the engine and opened the door, though not before giving a cautious glance towards Nick. “That was, in effect, a good portion of our gas ration which they declined to reimburse, Nicholas. Hopefully you’ll prove yourself more than worth it.”

“Yes Sir,” Nick immediately replied, his ears folding back meekly as he spoke. Judy opened her door and hopped out, practically slipping into a small group of other children who’d gathered around and were jumping with anticipation. Almost immediately a barrage of questions had begun.

“How many mammals did you get?”

“What species are they?”

“Are they a boy or a girl?”

“Prey or Predator?”

“Do they have fleas?”

“What's their name?”

“Is that a fox?”

“Why is there a fox here?”

“Did you want a fox, Judy?”

“What's the fox’s name?”

“Is he from Katavulpia?”

“Is he going to eat us?”

“Why is he staying up in the truck?”

“Is he scared?”

Judy's ears folded back against her head to protect herself from the onslaught of incessant questions, though given what was in the last few she also looked over her shoulder to check on Nick. He was squatting up on the seat, looking down at the baying crowd in front of him. Judy noticed that his ears seemed even more folded back, while his eyes trembled about in a way that Judy recognised well. Her friend at school, Sharla, had often suffered from stage fright, and Nick seemed to be acting out a terrific impersonation.

“Are you okay?” She asked, with Nick giving a firm shake of his head in response. She turned back to the crowd, gulping slightly as she realised that it had trebled in size. She looked back up to Nick and held out a paw. “Don’t worry, they won’t bite.”

Nick peered down at her paw, up again at the crowd, and then back down at Judy. “Do they think… you know? That uh, I will bite?”

Judy leant back a bit, her gaze hardening. “Do you bite?”

“No!” Nick half-shouted back, though his gaze turned more aggressive as he did so. “And no one’s ever asked that to me or thought I might, until now! And I don’t like it! It’s.. it’s…”

His angry gaze faded off as he struggled to find the words he was looking for, while Judy just stood there, thinking. Looking back, she realised that the crowd had tripled in size again, with her mother wandering over in the distance. The calls and queries were still rising, and Judy, not wanting him to be stuck inside the truck for the rest of his stay, decided to take action. Before he could react, she’d got her paw around his and pulled.

His eyes widened with surprise and he opened his mouth to protest, only to realise that he was going out whether he liked it or not before he could get a single word in. For a moment he was teetering on the edge, before Judy’s pull sent him crashing forward with a surprised yip.

.

At roughly the same moment Judy realised that her plan had one rather large flaw, namely her position.

.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the dirt, with a large fox kit lying on top of her. She looked up, his eyes filling her field of view, and she chuckled. “Oooops.”

.

He scowled at her, his teeth baring, and growled slightly, before pushing off and standing up. Judy waited for a paw to come down and help her up, but it never came. Instead, she scowled back as Nick brushed down the bits of his suit that had been dirtied, before turning back into the truck and grabbing his cases. Judy meanwhile got back up and was about to chastise him for his lack of chivalry, when her mother and Henry arrived.

“So…” she began, “this is…”

“Nicholas,” Henry said.

“I’m Nick, Ma'am” he said, as he walked up to her and held out a paw, waiting for her to shake it.

“And you’re a…” Bonnie Hopps paused on the word, as if Nick would realise a mistake had been made and would suddenly reveal that he was any other species than the one she would eventually say. He did speak out, though it was a deadpan snark rather than a correction.

“A red coloured todd of the species vulpes vulpes Ma’am,” he said almost proudly, before immediately flinching as Henry turned to face him and spoke.

“You will watch that tongue of yours,” he scolded, sending Nick a few steps backwards and his ears back into that familiar flat position of submission against the back of his head. Henry stepped forward to say something else, only to feel his mother's paw on his shoulder, holding him back.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It looks like he’s been a bit intimidated by our large family. If it can happen to an elephant land girl, it can happen to anyone, I guess.” Peering down at him, she smiled very slightly as she took his bags from his paws. “Master, uhh…”

“Wilde,” he replied.

“Master Wilde, I’m Mrs Hopps, though you can call me Bonnie.”

“And you can call me Nick,” he said with a smile. “I… uh… I don’t really like being called Nicholas or Master Wilde. It sounds strange, like you’re a teacher or I’m in trouble.

Bonnie's smile widened as she took Nick’s paw on her hand and, rather than just shake it, pulled him into a hug. Judy watched on as their paws loosely fumbled around each other’s backs and moved uncomfortably, before they lightly patted each other. As they quickly withdrew from the awkward embrace, Bonnie lightly patted his head and sighed. “Sorry if this is a bit weird. We were... how do you put it…”

“Not expecting a fox?” Nick emotionlessly replied.

“Well I suppose that's the blunt way of putting it,” Mrs Hopps replied back, before her nose began to twitch. “And Nicholas, I’ll give you a pass on your impertinence for now, though if you don’t curb that tongue now your stay might not be as pleasant as either of us want. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Nick meekly replied, his ears back in their submissive position, though they quickly rose up to their usual position as he saw Bonnie's face soften.

“Good!” she announced, as she rose up and looked around at the surrounding crowd, which now contained a good majority of the family. She cleared her throat and brought out a large bullhorn, the sight of which sent a sea of Bunny ears rising up, ready to listen in. Nick’s eyes widened at the strange sight, his head even tilting sharply to the side in confusion, while Judy paid the everyday scene almost no attention, bar raising her ears expectantly. Bonnie cleared her throat, the soft sound sending every other pair of Bunny ears up in attention, before speaking out to the crowd. “Children, I’d like you to meet Nick Wilde. He’s the city mammal who’ll be staying with us up until it’s safe for him to return home. Now, I think it’s obvious to everyone that he’s a fox. I think it goes without saying that we weren't expecting this. Even I have a few reservations, and whispers in my mind from my late father. But, we are Hopps’ and we are hospitable, and I want us all to give him the benefit of the doubt and treat him like he is our guest. It’s his choice as to how he responds to this. Now, I think he needs some time to settle in after his long trip. I’m guessing you all have a lot of questions, which he can answer after dinner. Until then, please give him some peace, quiet and time alone.”

As Bonnie lowered the bullhorn, the crowd erupted into a rumbling murmur of confusing sounds as the multitude of bunnies turned to each other to talk. Up front, Bonnie looked over them and then back down to Nick, her fingers drumming against her chin as she thought. “You know, I really don’t have enough time to show you your room, given that dinner’s running late. Thinking about dinner, I don’t even know what you eat.”

“He eats blueberries,” Judy shouted out, catching both of their attention. Bonnie paused for a second or so, before turning back to Nick. “Would you be okay with a blueberry pie? It’s very ration heavy, but I can make one for tonight.”

Nick's mouth widened into a giant grin and he nodded back furiously in response. “Yes please!” He urged. “Yes please, yes please, yes…”

“I can do that,” Bonnie interrupted, as she turned back to Judy. “Thank you, Judy.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, bouncing up and down on the tips of her toes, a huge proud smile on her face.

Bonnie smiled back, before her eyes opened wide with realisation. “You know what, if you want to be really helpful, you can show Nick to his room.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Not much to add here. In this story Katavulpia is the acting stand-in for Czechoslovakia.
> 
> Land girls, who were mentioned earlier, were women who were sent out to farms in order to help bring more land into cultivation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Pretty much all of this fic, bar this chapter, was done over 6 months ago. This chapter, and my writers block with it, is why it took so long to start publishing Evacuated. I've got three more chapters after this to get out, and after that updates will likely be far more sporadic. Long waits between individual mini-stories, but if they are composed of multiple chapters then said chapters will come out regularly.

**Unpacking.**

.

Following Judy, Nick entered the great burrow and froze, his feet rooted to the ground.

“You okay Nick?” she asked, turning around to face him.

“I…uhhhh…”

The bunny’s brow furrowed slightly and, sighing, she walked forwards to take his suitcase from him. “Any better?” she asked.

Nick blinked a few times, before he shook himself out of his stupor and looked over at Judy. “That wasn’t why I was…”

“Oh. Why were you…?”

Nick pointed up and forwards, and Judy turned to face the great atrium before them. Lit from above by a great skylight at the crest of the burrow mound, the fox could count at least ten floors overlooking them, while on their level there was a cooking and dining facility big enough to feed a small army. It may not have been as huge as the station, but it was still like a great hotel, something the fox hadn’t been expecting.

Judy turned to face it. “What? It’s the dining room.”

“Is this normal for bunnies? Having a giant room like this?”

She turned to face him again, and shrugged. “I guess…”

“Right… and where’s my room?”

“This way,” Judy said, carrying on forwards. Nick followed in close pursuit, but still looked around and marvelled at the size of the family home he was going to be staying at. That marvelling carried on as they journeyed up multiple flights of steps, as a tired Judy refused his offer to take his briefcase back, and as they finally went down a corridor and entered a large room.

It was bright, airy and white, with stencilled crops and flowers all along the walls. The windows, opened up wide, let the smells of the outside in, something that Nick was already enjoying. “This place is nice,” he remarked, as he spun around and took it in. “It’s the size of my whole shop floor at home, and even more!”

“So, you like it?” Judy asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Nick asked back, as he wandered over to a large bed in one corner, jumping onto it on all fours and circling around.

“Mum said that you might not like the smell. It’s where she gives birth and keeps the babies when they’re new-borns.”

“Doesn’t smell bad to me,” Nick said happily, sliding down from the bed and walking back to Judy. “I mean our bedrooms at home smell worse than this, I don’t know why though.”

“I’m guessing the fresh country air cleaned the stink all away,” Judy happily said, before gesturing to one of two large doors. “All the important birthing stuff is stored behind the one on the right, so mum doesn’t want you touching it.”

“And what’s behind the door on the left?”

“It’s the water closet.”

Nick’s face squinted up slightly, and he walked towards it. “You mean there’s a toilet in there…”

“Yes,” Judy said, surprised and confused a little bit. “That’s what I just said.”

The fox, leaning up to grasp the door handle, turned around, a nervous look on his face. “Indoors… Like on a train?”

“Yes. Where else would it be?”

“At the back of the garden, where toilets usually are,” Nick replied, before opening to door and gasping. There, just like she’d said, was a toilet, along with a sink. The fox looked at it for a few seconds, even going up and pulling down the flushing chain to confirm that it did work, before running back to Judy. “This-is-the-best-house-EVER!”

“I…” Judy began, before shaking her head. “Most of us use communal toilets, like in school…”

“That’s still better than a chamber pot,” Nick interrupted, smiling. “And your house is huge! Does it go underground as well…?”

“There’s twenty basement levels… I think…”

“You think?” Nick exclaimed, his face lighting up with glee. “That means we can go and explore it all. What else is in here!”

“It’s just rooms,” Judy said, her paws up in the air. “Bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, the dining room, storage rooms, play rooms, some libraries, the two cinema’s…”

“TWO CINEMA’S!” Nick screamed, his voice so loud that Judy had to reach up and hold her ears down.

“Yes!” she hissed. “I’m guessing you’ve only got one in your house, but we’re big and…”

“We don’t have a cinema in our house,” Nick said, “we go to the big one on Whilfur street if we want to watch a film, but only once a week at most. Your family must be very rich!”

“Or yours very poor,” Judy huffed back, before pausing as the door opened.

“What are you two arguing about?” Bonnie said, sighing as she walked in.

“Do-you-really-have-two-cinemas-and-libraries-and-a-house-that-goes-twenty-floors-down!”

…

…

“Yes….” The doe said nervously, before shaking her head. “But they’re all old projectors and such, and all the films are at least five years old, most of them silent. The local theatre can only hold one bunny family at a time, so we wait until the film is no longer being played and then bid for the tapes. We also swap them around a lot.”

“Oh…” Nick said, before smiling. “That’s clever though! I loved the adventures of robin hood, but by the time I had enough money to watch it again they’d stopped playing it.”

“We don’t have that one,” Judy said, shaking her head.

“But the Grey’s do,” Bonnie added. “They don’t have a projector though, and always want a seat in if it gets played… I’ll think about it…” She smiled cheerfully and scanned the room, before sighing as she looked at the bed. “That’s big enough for Nick, certainly. It’s seen a lot of use, but I think it will handle a fox well…”

Nick nodded on, before his eyes widened. “Mrs Hopps?”

“Yes?” she asked, looking down at him.

“Judy said this was the birthing room. Did you give birth to her in here?”

Judy’s face winced up and, were she bald, she’d be going red with embarrassment. Bonnie meanwhile happily looked at Nick and replied. “Yes, and all my other dear children.” Standing up again, she took some time to scan around, a melancholic smile on her face. “This place has a few very sad memories, but it’s still the happiest room I know of in the world.”

She paused, a paw going forwards to gently stroke a field of carefully painted pumpkins, before she sighed and began to make her way out. “Make the most of it while you can, Master Wilde, we’ll be getting some more children in soon, and they’ll all be staying in here.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Nick politely replied, nodding his head as she made her way out. He watched as she slowly lingered at a painted barn, the bricks and wooden shingles finger painted on, before finally leaving.

As the door closed, he grabbed his suitcase and pulled it over to a nearby chest of drawers. There were several placed about, one for each new child, though Nick could easily fit his clothes into a single drawer. Pulling it open, he quickly began placing the piles of clothes he’d brought inside, along with a few other items. A binder of envelopes, a small book of stamps, a metal biscuit tin that rattled about as it moved, a pencil case and, last but not least, a neatly printed ration book. He placed them all down inside and closed it up, before turning back to Judy, dusting his paws as he did so.

“I’m moved in!”

The bunny nodded. “Yes, yes you are. Now, what colour do you want the room to be?”

Blinking slightly, Nick paused, his tilting to the side slightly. “What do you mean, what colour?”

“Well,” Judy happily said, “Mum said that you might not want all these baby murals, so you and I could paint this room over! I also said we could have paint fights, though I don’t think she would be happy about that.”

“I didn’t know they were baby murals,” the fox slowly said, moving up closer to look at some of them. He leant forwards, tapping one with a claw, before feeling a second tap on his shoulder.

“Do you want the tour?” Judy asked, smiling as she hopped eagerly on her toes.

“I gueeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssss………………..” Nick replied, wailing as the bunny grabbed his arm and shot off.

“Now this is the room of Zachary, Johnathon, Virgil, Bailey……….”

.

.

.

Two hours later, and the central dining room was bristling with activity. Hundreds of bunnies had sat down, picking one of the many tables the covered the floor. It was a dozen or so to each, and all had their duties. One would bring out the tablecloth and settle it down, one would lay the cutlery, another the crockery, three more actually serving and two the cleaning at the end. Smaller kits also had a member who would place them up in their chair and help them through the meal.

The system, honed by years of practice, worked well, and the great pots of various vegetables were rapidly finding themselves at the foot of the waiting rabbits.

Overseeing it all was Bonnie, though she didn’t need to make any commands or alterations. Everything ran like clockwork.

… Bar the Judy element that was.

Settling down at the head table, she looked sadly at the empty chair next to her. Set out, like always, but empty of food or the mammal that would be eating it.

On her other side were three of her youngest, still hungry for their mother’s milk, though soon it would be time to start them on porridge and such.

Further out, though, were more empty chairs. One for their guest, more for their future guests, and one that soon wouldn’t be for their helpful daughter.

_“…And-this-is-the-diining-room-again,-i-know-you’ve-already-seen-it-but-we’re-ready-for-dinner-and-Mum’s-waiting.-Hi-Mum!”_

Speaking of the devil, Bonnie stepped back a bit as Judy rocketed up next to her, standing tall and proud. Holding onto one of her paws, down on his knees and full on tongue out panting from exhaustion, was Nick.

“And that concludes our tour!” the bunny kit proudly announced. She turned to Nick and smiled. “You’re now seen all of the above ground parts of the burrow!”

The fox’s eyes widened in alarm. “There’s more…!”

“There’s everything below ground. We’ve just scratched the surface. Well, explored it I mean. But after dinner…”

“Can I go and sleep?” Nick interrupted, shaking slightly as he stepped away. “I’m worn out…”

“But we still have so much to see and…”

“Judy,” Bonnie said, immediately catching the girl’s attention.

“Yes mum?” she replied quietly.

“I think Nicholas can explore the rest of the burrow when he wants. In any case, settle down, it’s dinner time.” She waved the two to their seats and watched them sit down, before grabbing and ringing a bell. All the food had been served at this point and was being waited on, giving the many hungry bunnies a very good reason to quieten down. In seconds the room was silent, though Bonnie still brought out her bull horn from earlier.

“As you are aware, we have a new visitor, Mr Nicholas Wilde. An Evacuee from the city, the first of many. He is our guest, and as I said before is to be treated as such, and, no matter how old you are, if you make him feel unwelcome you’ll be over my knee before you can say carrot-sticks!” She paused, letting it sink in, before carrying on. “It’s been tough for us recently… but…. But I know we can all pull through it.”

The rest of the cohort had caught her hitch, and many looked sadly at the chair next to hers, some of the younger ones even beginning to shed some tears.

“…But we have much to look forwards to, too. This will be over, soon enough. Let us praise the lord, asking him to give us strength in our fight against evil. Let him bring in good weather, letting us have a bountiful harvest this year, and in the future, and… and…”

All eyes went on Bonnie again, as she tried to find her words, her buck teeth pinching over the top of her quivering lower lip.

She gulped, before pushing on “ -and let him be there for your father, and give him good health as he waits to come home, and let the wait be short and pleasant. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd replied, before a great wash of sound came over them, the entire family finally digging in to their meals.

Up at the top, Bonnie slowly went over to Nick and placed down a small pot in front of him. “Here you go,” she said happily, placing a paw on his shoulder. “I hope you like it, though don’t get used to it. Tomorrow, you can go into town with your ration book to get some bugs, or you can go over to Tarka’s mill given that he’s opened it up for fishing.”

Nick, who’d been sniffing excitedly at the food in the pot, his tail wagging rapidly behind him, turned to Bonnie at the last suggestion. His ears stood alert and an eager look was on his eyes. “I’d like to go fishing Ma’am,” he replied, “my scouting book has lots on it, and I want to try it out!”

“Very well,” Bonnie replied, “and I’m pretty sure Judy won’t mind tagging along with you, will you dear?”

Judy, her ears rising as her name was spoken, turned and nodded. “No mother. It sounds fun.”

“Very well then,” she replied, finally taking the lid off the pot as she did so, revealing the pie beneath. Nick’s eyes widened like dinner plates and he couldn’t help but salivate slightly. “I could use that time to redecorate that room as well…”

She turned to sit back down, only to pause as she felt a tap on her back. “Mrs Hopps,” came the voice of Nick as she turned around, looking down at the now concerned looking fox. “I don’t mind the decorations in the room. You don’t need to paint over them, you can keep them as they are.”

Bonnie was silent, but a small smile grew on her face. It didn’t come close to matching the warmth she felt spreading inside of her, however. “Mr Wilde,” she said, slowly composing her thoughts. She leant down, and brought him into a gentle hug. “May I say, you are one fantastic fox. Thankyou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Outdoor toilets were still relatively common in both the city and the country, especially among the poorer classes. Having a private toilet would thus be very welcome for Nick.
> 
> Cinema’s were a much larger source of entertainment, with the use of home tv’s only becoming common in the 1950’s. The adventures of Robin hood, released in 1938, was one of the first major full-length colour features ever produced (the first by warner brothers) and is critically acclaimed. Nick likes it, because of course Robin would be a fox.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Most of ) the rest of this fic is going to be short self-contained adventures like this one. There are three chapters to the fishing arc. Once there complete though this fic is going off the regular update schedule. I've got some other projects in the works, and an interesting one has just opened up and needs to be worked on, and they'll be taking over my attention. Updates to evacuated will come when they come.

**Fishing (part1)**

.

Dawn was fast approaching, a warm orange glow slowly peeking above the horizon, and, all over the Hopps burrow, mammals were beginning to wake. Up on the top floor, Bonnie Hopps’ alarm had already rung and the doe was wide awake. Stretching and putting on her clothes for the day, she didn't even have to think before starting the morning routine. She exited her room, pausing briefly as if expecting someone to say something, before heading down the corridor. Along she went, knocking on every seventh door as she roused the adult (or nearly adult) mammals inside. Bucks and Does, all coming out before making their way downwards into the depths of the burrow, each stopping at a set of doors they knew by heart and rousing the occupants.

Barely five minutes after Bonnie had woken, almost one seventh of her family was up and going. A whole line matched off towards the kitchens, ready to prepare the family morning meal. The younger ones, from about five to ten years of age, would be sifting through newly picked lettuce and alfalfa, or chopping up tomatoes, cucumber or pickled peppers for the salads. The older ones would be cooking, preparing potato and carrot hashes and frying up tomatoes, mushrooms and baking beans. Even after that job would be complete, they’d move onto baking bread for lunch (and preparing the dough for the next day) as well as starting the night’s vegetable stew. Others went out to the fields, or to check and pass out the mail, or to retrieve clothing from the laundry.

As for Bonnie, she sighed as she approached the nursery room, still saddened by the lack of new bunny kits in there. The fact that there wouldn’t be little bundled up babies in there, needing her love, care and attention, pained her heart, while reminding her of her precious Stuart and his absence. Then again, she reminded herself, there was a kit in there, and if she didn’t make him feel welcome then she’d be failing as a Hopps. Stopping by the door, she paused for a moment, her ear raised up and lying flat against the wood, listening for any activity. She heard nothing, so she gently knocked against the door before letting herself in. Her eyes scanned across the empty space, before settling on the beds in the corner as a smile grew across her face. Little Nicholas… no, Nick she reminded herself, lay curled up on one of them, his tail resting on his nose and limbs all tucked up beneath him. The similarity to a red furry footrest, or a danish pastry, certainly didn’t escape her. She walked up to him, before carefully resting her paw on his back and shaking him gently.

“Wake up Nick,” she cooed, before repeating it again, only louder, when he didn’t react.

“I’m still tired Mummy,” he muttered, before his eyelids fluttered and he slowly uncurled. Bonnie watched as his arms and legs stretched out ram-rod strait, his claws splaying out while his mouth opened up into a huge gape, his lower jaw almost at right angles to his upper and his tongue curling up in a most peculiar way. He yawned what Bonnie thought was the loudest and longest yawn she'd ever heard, and for a moment she couldn’t help but look at his rows of long, sharp teeth. She shook her head, reminding herself that it was her duty to get over silly things like that, before she held out her paw to help him out of bed. Nick looked up at her, blinking a few times before taking her paw, stepping out of bed and wobbling on the spot as if he’d drunk too much. “What time is it, Mrs Hopps?” He asked, lethargically.

“It’s dawn Nick,” she said back. “We want you up nice and early to catch lots of fish before lunch. You can’t survive on blueberry pie forever, not unless you want to deal with a mob of bunnies who want to know why there’s no sugar for their tea!”

Nick’s eyes fully opened at that, and he looked around nervously a bit, before turning his face away from her bashfully. “Yes Ma’am,” he replied.

Bonnie smiled as she reached down beneath his muzzle and gently hooked it with a finger, cradling it as she moved his head up to face her, before gently ruffling his head fur. While she'd had a few reservations before, they were virtually gone now, replaced by a familiar maternal bond to the little kit in front of her. He was very cute this morning, there was no denying it, what with how sleepy he looked with his spine slouching, his tail drooping on the floor and how his fur was all fluffy and unkempt. She gently moved her thumb to rub some sleep from his eyes before she turned to lead him on, not noticing his scrunched up paws rising to heavily rub his eyelids. “We’ll wake Judy up, get some breakfast, and then you can pop to the bathroom so you can get yourself cleaned and preened up for the day, before getting some spare outdoor clothes. You do have a fur brush, don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Nick replied, before pausing to think. “But I can’t do my back well. My Mum usually does it… and, uh… -well all of me really...”

“Is that so?” Bonnie asked, “well…”

“Yes it…” Nick answered, cutting off Bonnie before he paused in alarm. He gulped, before rushing out an apology “I’m really sorry Ma’am, I…”

“Don't be, Nick,” Bonnie interrupted. “I’ve known adults who don’t understand rhetorical questions, and most had half the manners you do.” She stepped out of the door, waving Nick on, all while talking. “We don’t have any fishing rods or anything, but our library has to have some books on fishing, so you can read that and get an idea of how to make one.”

“Yes Ma'am, but I have a scouting book with lots on fishing. I could use that.”

“We’ll see,” Bonnie replied. “But first, you can stop calling me Ma’am. It makes me sound like a teacher. I prefer what you called me earlier.”

“Yes Mrs Hopps.”

“Maybe even earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“You called me Mummy in your sleep.”

“Oh…” Nick said, the inside of his ears turning red.

“But I’ll settle for Bonnie.”

.

.

* * *

 

.

.

Two hours later, and two small figures joined the flow exiting the burrow. The first hopped and jumped excitedly, a homemade fishing rod over her shoulder and a spring in her step. Behind her plodded a larger, red, figure. Nick had been fitted out with some outdoor clothes, including a pair of waders. However, being bunny sized, they had much longer legs than he did. Despite some quick work with some bulldog clips, the best that had been achieved was turning the long trouser legs into fat trouser legs. The end result was that Nick walked with a strange, waddling gait. He wouldn't really have minded it, if it weren't for the fact that Judy found it hilarious, apparently making him a spitting image of some Gideon fellow.

“Keep up Nick!” Judy yelled over her shoulder as she hopped, skipped and jumped up ahead.

“Easy for you to say,” Nick shouted back. “Your clothes fit, and I’m carrying most of the stuff!”

“You don’t need most of that,” Judy replied, taking the opportunity to do a summersault. Her eartips brushed the grass as she did so, before she landed back on her feet and turned to face him. She giggled at the sight of him lumbering along, a great backpack on his shoulder. As far as she cared, all you needed for fishing was a long stick with some rope and a hook attached. We'll, that and some worms, though living in the country those were easy to acquire.

Nick had the basic requirements, his rod in his paws making an impromptu staff. However, he’d also packed a whole bunch of other bits and pieces in his pack, each with some use or other. A large bag of rotting bugs and stuff was sort of expected, though Judy thought they could just find some worms when they got to the lake. He also had a huge piece of netting, originally for storing onions in the barn, which had been packed inside along with a smaller real net made for butterfly catching. At this point though all logic left Judy, as he also had some gardening tools, an umbrella, some different bags of stuff and, strangest of all to the confused doe, some bits of old drainpipe and an empty paint can.

“We do need it,” Nick whined. “My scouting book says there’s lots of ways to catch fish that are better than a fishing rod, and I want to test all of them!”

“Maybe you’re just not as good a fishing mammal as I am,” Judy teased, making Nick's tail bristle up in response.

“You’ve never been fishing, just like me!”

“Yeh, but I have better ears. I can hear the fish and…”

“Fish don’t make noises!” Nick said as he finally caught up to Judy.

“HA!” Judy squealed with glee. “Yes they do! Dumb Fox!”

“What noise do they make?” Nick asked sceptically.

“Splash! Splosh! Splish! Flap!” Judy said rapidly, giggling as she did so.

“That's when they’re out of the water,” Nick complained.

“So?”

“It’s no use to us, is it?”

“It’s still a sound fish make,” Judy teased, reaching in to pinch Nick’s cheek, only for him to dodge away.

“Get off!” He grunted, batting Judy away with his paws before marching on. “If I asked you what sound a Fox makes, you wouldn’t say thud-thud-thud would you?”

“Thud?” Judy asked, raising a finger only to lower it as Nick stomped a few times to clarify his point.

“See?” Nick asked. “I don’t go thud so a fish doesn’t go splash. And just remember I’m the better fisher as I have my scout book and I have the equipment and I have a better nose!”

“Nose?” Judy asked, as Nick proudly tapped his one with a claw.

“If I wanted to, I could be a detective with this and track down bad guys!”

Judy sneered back at him, marching in front to block his path before standing as tall as she could. “No, I’m the best detective here! I’m going to be a cop and a detective when I grow up and stop bad guys!”

Nick paused, blinking a few times before shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t say you couldn’t be a better detective than me…  Just that my nose was better at smelling fish. Anyway, I want to be a tailor like my dad and make clothes and suits for people… Or a ranger scout. Or both!”

Judy shook her head, before turning ahead and taking the lead again. “We'll, I’m going to be the best detective there is when I grow up, and catch more fish than you!”

Nick looked at Judy and sighed slightly. “I don't know why you're being so annoying... I don’t even know why you have to come along with me…”

“Annoying? I’m just saying you shouldn't complain about all that silly stuff you’re carrying…”

“Fine, I won’t if you don’t bring it up.”

“And do you know the way to Tarka’s mill?”

“No….”

“There’s your answer” Judy boasted, smiling smugly as she led Nick between the fields and towards a nearby set of woods. Nick, close behind, rolled his eyes and followed obediently.

.

.

An hour later, and the two were trekking through a nearby wood. The bunny and fox weaved their way around the white beach trees, the latter paying attention to the beds of green moss that grew up their flaky white and dappled black trunks. The former, not caring about what his scout book said about knowing which way was which (or the fact that he could ‘see’ north), just led him forward in the general direction she knew was best. Nick though was certain that she was, at the very least, taking them on the most meandering route possible, however he didn’t mind that much. He was loving the forest. He loved the way the sky was painted green as the sun shone through the fresh leaves. He loved the way the air didn’t have the stink of other mammals, smoke and coal soot. Instead, it was fresh and smooth and relaxing. His trek led him through beds of bluebells, the pure blue flowers smelling sweet and fresh as he carved his way through them. The scent of wild garlic was also prevalent, and it set off cravings in his stomach while his mouth watered with hunger. Once, he even thought he could smell the sweet scent of honey, though they soon past it. The smell Nick liked best, however, was the deep, rich, earthy scent that just existed wherever he went. Somehow, it just smelt more right than anything else in the forest. Still though, Nick did plan on doing some fishing today....

“Are we nearly there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we nearly there yet?”

“What did I just say?”

“Are we lost?”

“That wasn’t what I just said, was it?”

“It isn’t. But what you said sounds like a very good way of not answering an embarrassing question.”

“We are not lost Nick, we’re almost there!”

“Didn’t you say that ages ago?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not…”

“I said don’t lie Judy,” Nick teased as he tiptoed right up behind Judy, only to jolt back as she suddenly turned to face him. Her foot thumped hard on the ground at least twice every second while her maddeningly twitching nose was even faster. Nick put his paws up and stepped back, letting Judy carry on leading the way. He paused for a second, sniffing the air, before he spoke. “Are you sure you’re going the right way?”

“YES!!!!!!!!” Judy screamed, her cry so loud that the woods erupted with the sounds of songbirds taking flight. Nick shrunk to half his size, only standing back up when the sudden wave of falling leaves had all settled on the ground.

“You know there was a park in the city?” he asked quietly.

“I’m familiar with the concept,” Judy mumbled as she marched off into the distance.

“They had this pond for model boats and stuff, though the water wasn’t changed often. It was green and it smelled… uh, -like dirty water!”

“I’m not interested in your smelly city water,” Judy said.

“It’s just I’m guessing some mill water might smell the same.”

“So…?”

“The wind’s coming from port, and it smells like dirty water.”

Judy jerked to a halt and twisted around to give Nick a piece of her mind, not even bothering to be mad that he hadn’t moved a muscle, instead just standing where he’d been when she last turned around. “What on earth do you mean!?”

Nick shrugged his shoulders and pointed to Judy. “Bow.” He then turned to his right. “Starboard.” Then he pointed behind him. “Stern.” Finally, he looked back at Judy and pointed to his left, an innocent smile on his muzzle. “Port!”

“And what, you think the mill is that way?” Judy said. “Any other proof, apart from the city smell only your ‘super nose’ can smell?”

“It’s downhill that way, and uphill your way,” the Fox replied, before racing off.

“NICK!” Judy screamed. She held her pole in both arms to keep it steady before racing after him, cursing as she went. “You silly, stupid, know-it-all, dumb-dumb…” Had she known any proper curse words, she’d be belting them out as fast as she could. Instead, she gritted her teeth and pounded after Nick. Already she could see the outline of his stupid giant backpack, and the shocks of red where his ears and hands stuck out. As she got even closer, her grin got wider as he seemed to stop in place.

“I’VE GOT YOU NOOWWWWWWHOAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” Judy screamed as she found out just why Nick had stopped. He jumped out of her path, letting her charge right onto the steep gully in front of him. Judy felt herself go head over heels as she painfully tumbled down the ground. “OOOHH EEEHHHH AAHHHH.” Before she could even think about it somehow getting worse, it did. Instead of the impact of some piece of tangly overgrowth or a rock on her feet, she felt the ice cold of shallow water and the gross stickiness of slimy mud. Judy only got a second to take in the expanse of green, algae coated water, before she was lying down in it, only her tail sticking out.

.

“I told you it was this way,” Nick boasted as he shimmied his way down a steeper, but far less overgrown, bit of the bank. “Now who's the dumb bunny, huh!” Standing with the soles of his waders dipped in the water but nothing more, he smiled and Judy stood up on her hands and feet. She was soaked throughout, covered in hundreds of burrs and lashings of stickyweed, with even the odd torn bit of bramble thrown into the mix. To top it off, her front was covered in mud and green muck. “I said who's the dumb bunny now, huh!” he said again, a massive proud grin on his muzzle.

Judy just looked back silently, shaking and trembling, before sniffing slightly. Nick’s grin faded somewhat as she sniffed again, and then sobbed, before her face grimaced into the most miserable expression he’d ever seen. She stood up, water dripping down from every part of her, and she hobbled back to the shore where she sat down. Finally on dry land, Judy curled up as the odd tear began to drip out of her, quickly followed by a finger rising up to try and plug the leak.

.

“Hey… I…”

“GO AWAY!!!!” Judy shouted, before doubling her efforts to hold in her tears with her fingers. Despite her brave face though, she still looked miserable, her lips wobbling and her nose twitching furiously.

Nick just looked on silently, his ears and tail drooping down. Putting his bag down, he ferreted around and brought out the empty paintcan. Gently putting it into the water while fanning away most of the weeds with his other paw, he filled it up with water before turning to Judy. “I can help you get that mud off you.”

“I SAID GO AWAY!” Judy screamed again.

“And the stickyweed, and the…”

“GO AWAY!” Judy shouted again, this time turning and lashing out at Nick. He jumped back, and the bunny just tumbled forward and into the water again. The Fox immediately waded in, cradling her under her shoulders and picking her back up. The dam had burst though, and, after a few rapidly increasing sobs, she burst into tears, bawling out loudly. Nick took her back to the shore and, as she still cried, gently pulled her arm out. He lifted his can and slowly let a trickle of water flow out, cleaning off the mud. Judy didn’t protest, so Nick continued. As she calmed down, she started helping out too, picking out a burr or hauling off some stickyweed. Slowly but surely, they cleaned Judy off.

It was at this point an otter turned up, and then everything got better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A well known way for finding your way around in forests is by looking at where moss grows on trees. It's usually on the (shaded) north side. In addition, Nick 'seeing' north is a reference to how (red and arctic at least) foxes align themselves towards magnetic north when pouncing, strongly suggesting that they possess a sense of magnetism (which may well be interpreted visually). 
> 
> Tarka the Otter is a reference to the book and character of the same name by Henry Williamson. The Tarka trail in devon is also named after him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Fishing (part 2)**

.

“So, Miss Hopps…” the Otter began to say, the words trailing off on his lips as he thought. “What takes you out this way? And with a Fox, too?”

“Can you say that again please?” Judy asked, raising her voice so that it reached through the thick timber door that separates the two.

“What takes you out this way, and with a Fox too?” he repeated.

.

.

.

He’d been swimming his daily laps on his mill pond when he’d found the two kits, immediately seeing that one was in distress. Although the boy looked like he’d been tending to her, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d had anything to do with her sorry state. Thankfully, he’d helped her along the banks of the pond and back to the mill house, before saying that they’d been sent there to go fishing. While Tarka had a dim view of mammals taking food from what he considered his personal larder (which his father had taken great care in stocking with a healthy variety of fish), he’d opened up given the ongoing rationing (with a few caveats of course). So, the fox had left to set up some kind of fish trap and then use his pole and line, leaving the bunny as his responsibility. He always enjoyed a hot bath after his swims and, with the large copper he heated his water in already simmering, it was fairly easy to give it to someone with a much greater need.

There were some issues though, and he’d sighed that this sudden complexity in his life was only getting more-so as time passed. Given her state, it was pointless for the Bunny to have a proper bath until she’d rinsed off most of the mud and removed all of the hitchhiking flora from her fur. As far as he saw it, the solution was obvious. Up by the millhouse the water was deep and a quick jump in would clean off the worst of it. But, despite being warmed up throughout summer, the water was still too cold for her, or so she said. As a result, he’d suggested that she just stand by the side and strip to her underwear, while he’d mix up some warm water that he’d shower her with. Thankfully she’d agreed, so he returned to his home, mixed up some warm water in a kettle and returned.

Before immediately pushing her in.

“If it’s really that bad, better to get it over with,” he’d instructed her as her head burst from the water. Her teeth chattering, she looked up with a glare that could put the fear into anyone, even the oafish mutt Deadlock that tried to make Tarka’s life a misery every other year or so. “Now get scrubbing, because if you come out and aren’t clean enough, I’ll be tossing you back in!”

Thankfully she did as was asked and was quickly scrubbing herself. Working her fingers under her fur, the thick slime that had coated her ws soon floating away. Most of the stickyweed had gone too, though the burrs were a lot more persistent in their attachment.

“Right, that’ll do.” he announced after a couple of minutes. “I do have a warm kettle, given that I don’t want you….” His voice trailed off. Instead of mentioning the possibility of her catching a cold, he stepped aside as she bolted up the ladder in a record pace. She looked very impatient and so he just waved her to the kettle. Despite being over forty years her senior, Tarka was still the smaller mammal so he left it to Judy to shower herself. The fuming water ran down her, the trickles pooling on hanging furs and the green burrs that covered her like buboes. Her shivering slowly began subsiding and, as she turned back to Tarka, she almost had a smile on her muzzle.

Almost…

“So?” she’d asked. “Now what?”

“That bath, I guess?” Tarka replied, before leading her back along the top of the dyke to his house. His tin bath, placed in the washroom next to the fire and the copper, was already half full of cold water. Together, he and Judy took turns filling buckets with the scalding water and pouring it into the bath. Every now and again Judy would dip her finger in to test the water, until eventually she decided that it was good. At that Tarka had left her in there with some towels and some cotton sheets. He reckoned that, as her clothes were ruined, she’d have to go ‘roman’ as he called it and wear the sheet instead.

It was as he waited outside that the odd appearance of the two earlier in the day came back to him. A slight whisper of concern scurried about in his mind, so he gently knocked three times on the door and spoke.

“So, Miss Hopps…” he began.

.

.

.

“What takes you out this way, and with a Fox too?” he said, louder this time.

Back on the other side of the door Judy, who was industriously plucking burr after burr out with some tweezers, thought back and spoke. “He’s an evacuee.”

“From the city? Which one?”

“Zootopia.”

“Figures,” Tarka replied. “I’d got one of those letters saying that I might have to take one, only from much closer to home.”

“Where from?” Judy asked.

“I guess it would be Ewecester,” the otter replied. “Or Briestol, though I hear they’re sending most of the mice there a good way north. Up near Peltenham and the like.”

“I’m guessing that they want them to be with other rodent families.”

“I guess. So, this Zootopia Fox... What does he go by then miss Hopps?”

“Nick,” Judy replied. “And I go by Judy.”

“Very well Judy. So, how did you and Nick get into that situation.”

The inside of Judy’s ears turned a shade or two pinker as she was reminded of the morning’s embarrassment. Not so much the fact that she’d ended up coated in mud, but the fact that she’d _lost_ and ended up coated in mud by her own clumsiness, drove her mad.

“Judy…”

“ _I-was-running-after-him-and-slipped..._ ”

.

“Guess that makes sense.” he muttered, low enough for Judy to not hear him through the door and past the cracking of the fire. She didn’t mind. Instead she pinched her nose and went under, letting the warmness bury her alive.

Tarka meanwhile went about with his own affairs. Business at this time of year was low, but there was a sense of something in the air. A static. An anticipation. He knew that in a few weeks the harvests would be coming in and the mill would be abuzz with activity as local families hauled their harvests in for grinding. He pitter-pattered across the cold stone flagstones of his house and stepped outside, taking a deep breath in and out. His house wasn’t so much a large house, more an outhouse built by the red deer who once owned the mill in order to store equipment. The real mill house, all one storey facing the water and three at the base of the dyke, was in a sorry state of affairs. The mill itself and the equipment on the lowest floor was in working order. Above that though the floors were empty, used for storing crops that had been brought it or just lying empty, with scattered and rusting tools that were just waiting to turn into dust with the years. The proud sandstone blocks were looking a little rough around the edges and bulged out here and there as the roof spread, one or two and the corners having cleanly faulted through. Some large ropes in the loft space now kept the roof together, and at least the roof kept the water out. The tiles though had been chipped and replaced in a hundred-and-one different places, always needed a few little repairs every year. The least you could say about it was that it was luckier than the windows. Tarka remembered boarding them up with his father after they moved into the mill, back when he was a little pup.

Wandering back along the dyke, he came to the sluice which was placed by the side of the old mill. Checking that it was closed, he undid his clothes until he was as far from decent as one could publicly get. He looked down and jumped. The cool water enveloped him and he opened his eyes, taking the state of the metal sluice in. It was clogged with twigs, rotting leaves and large amounts of mud. Swimming up to it, he dug with his paws to free the mass, watching it as it fell into the murkiness below. A little irritation in his chest, he kicked his legs and broke the surface, releasing a deep breath and taking a new one, preparing to go back down. Before he did so, he looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at the sight. The Fox (who’s name he had completely forgotten) was chest deep in the water in his waders. Over one shoulder he held an open umbrella, shading his head from view. Tarka shook his head and dove back down below, ready to carry on his work.

.

.

* * *

 

.

**Earlier that day.**

.

Nick wasn’t sure if he liked the Otter or not. He seemed quiet, and strangely suspicious. He always got annoyed by people who did that to him, particularly given that he often had the feeling that it was all due to him being a fox and not much else. However, his father always had a motto for those occasions. ‘ _They think us foxes are sneaky and untrustworthy. Well like many things there is a little seed of truth in that. We’re cunning. And cunning can be used for good or bad and it can make winners and losers. You should always try and use it for good. You should always use it to make winners. But, if someone treats you like you’re sneaky and untrustworthy, give ‘em a double-dose of cunning with some embarrassment to boot!’_

Nick looked over at the otter and smiled, deciding to be as friendly and helpful as possible. He’d prove that he wasn’t any of those things, and if they decided to be mean he’d just use lots of kindness to make them look double mean. “Hi, my friend and I were coming here to fish and she slipped. Could you help us please?”

The Otter looked over at Judy and nodded. “I can,” he replied. “I was planning on having a bath today, she can have it. As for you, well I suppose you can fish by yourself until she’s all cleaned up.”

“That’s great!” Nick said, smiling. “Do you want to walk, Judy? Or I could carry you?”

Judy, who was wiping some of the mud away from her eyes, turned to glare at him. “I have legs, I can walk!”

Tarka huffed slightly, his tail swishing behind him a few times, before he turned to his left and pointed. “The mill’s this way. Follow me.” At that, he waded out a bit before leaning forwards, twisting his body left and right as he quickly swam ahead. Nick followed, wading through the water and seeming to splash up as much of it as he could. Judy, at the rear, trudged along the banks. As she stepped forwards, her feet digging down into the cold wet mud with queasy squelches, her chin or ear would flicker slightly before returning to normal. But, apart from that and her incessantly twitching nose, she carried on with a face more befitting that of a hardened soldier than an eight-year-old girl.

Not paying much mind to her, Nick looked around at the surroundings and smiled. The mill pond water did have a similar colour and smell to the boat pond back in the city. However, it seemed more greener, more alive. Along the banks and sides paper like water lily's sprouted out and opened themselves up to the sky. There was the soft humming of insects, as damselflies and dragonflies danced in the air, while birds sung in a hundred different tunes. It was something so different to what Nick had known all his life, and he was loving every second of it. As far as he could care, he could wander and explore this like a scout (or, even better, with some fellow scouts) for months or weeks at a time! He raised his head up, looking over the trees that lined the other side of the pond and at the chiselled hills that rose up beyond. The trees ended and were replaced with patches of greens and browns, crisscrossed with stone walls or topped with strange stacks of rock. He knew he’d have to ask about exploring up there soon, but for now he was content to help Judy carry on over to the mill. While Tarka swam on, cutting across the still pond like a pair of shears through a cotton sheet, he and Judy and came across a problem. A small spur of the pond shot off to their right, cutting off their path. For Nick it was fine, given that he could wade out and over thank to his clothing. Judy, however, was sticking to the banks. Nick couldn’t help but spot the bushes of bullrush and bramble that she’d have to go through.

.

“What?” she asked, as she caught up to an expecting Nick. He just looked at her, his eyes smugly half lidded while his tail, were it not stored safely in his waders, would be lazily wagging around, ending each and every one of its turns with a quick and sassy flick.

“M’lady…” he replied, bowing down as he waved over at the water they’d have to wade through.

Judy chewed her bottom lip with her buck teeth, grimacing at the thought of what would need to be done. She certainly didn’t like it (or more specifically, who would be doing it), that was for sure! “Don’t do anything embarrassing,” she warned.

Nick shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face as he continued his charming knight act. “M’lady, I…”

“DO… NOT… CALL…” Judy interrupted, seething out the words, only to be cut off herself.

“...Me that?” Nick interrupted. “How about carrots, instead?”

“You know what I’ll do if you don’t stop!” she warned, holding her finger up to emphasise the point but only causing Nick to giggle.

“Not get me to carry you across? Get even wetter instead?”

Judy looked at him and sighed. “Fine, just because there is absolutely, positively, NO WAY that I’m going back in that stupid water today… you can carry me. But if you dunk me I’ll turn your tail into a scarf!”

“Thank you,” Nick replied, as he stepped forward. One arm under her knees, one cradling the small of her back, he lifted her up and carried her across the water. “Though…. Surely you should be the one saying thank-you?”

Judy rolled her eyes, before replying. “Maybe when I’m safely over.”

“Like now?” Nick asked, as they reached the other side. “Mind the Gap!” he announced, as he let Judy down, “between the fox and the platform!”

Judy looked at him in a strange way, like one does when you’re pretty sure that you didn’t get a funny joke, before walking off in front. Nick followed this time, looking to his side on occasions to see if he could see any fish in the water. Some way out, he saw dark shapes moving under the surface and he smiled. “I’m going to catch you fish!” he teased, and he meant it.

.

It didn’t take long for him and Judy to get over to Tarka’s mill house. Nick at first thought they would be going to the large, slightly shabby, building that loomed over the weir. Instead, they went into a smaller cottage like structure that was slightly off to the right. It was made of simple bricks up until the height of one of the floors in his parents’ house. Above that, it had a top storey made of thick timber coated a greasy brown with creosote. Mostly, however, it was covered in Ivy and creepers, making it look green with white polka dots more than any other colour. Tarka led Judy through his front door, which was the bottom half of a larger stable door that a Horse or Deer could fit through. Inside, it looked like the pictures of cottages inside Nick’s old picture books. It was a bit gloomy, not that Nick minded one bit, while the walls were covered in all sorts of bits and pieces, from tools to horseshoes and from garlands of herbs and garlic to embroidery and paintings. Tarka looked over at Judy and shook his head. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up even before we get you in the bath. Go through that door there and get undressed.

“Yes,” Judy replied. “Thankyou.”

As she left, the otter turned to Nick and looked at him. His foot tapping against the ground a little bit, he shifted his cheeks left and right while he pondered. “You here to fish boy?”

“Yes,” Nick replied. “Judy’s mother said we should go fishing today, to get food for me, and we came here.”

“Fair ‘nuff,” Tarka replied. “But what’s with all that stuff on your back?”

Nick smiled proudly as he pulled out a little booklet from his bag. “I’m gonna be a scout soon!” he proudly announced. “And my scouting book says that there are many different ways of catching fish, all better than a line and pole. You can trap catfish in special traps, or use nets or spears like a heron!”

“Really?” Tarka asked. “Where’s the fun in all that? I do things the old fashioned way, swimming around with net for the little ‘uns and a spear for any pikes!”

“Well you’re an otter sir,” Nick pointed out. “You’re really good at swimming.”

“‘I s’pose…” he muttered back, before shaking his head. “Anyhow, as long as this wretched war and the rationing is on, go ahead. Just bring all this fish to me so I can get gut ‘em and get the roe! I’m not letting you take that, it’s wasted on you!”

“Thankyou sir!” Nick replied, before his paw shot up in a scouts salute and he jogged off, eager to get to work.

.

It didn’t take long for Nick to dig out a chunk of mud and set the catfish trap. Resting his scout book on a lily pad and checking it as he went, he sliced a hole in the paintcan with a penknife and slotted in a drainage pipe. The pond water trickled over the brim and filled the can up, while Nick put half his bait in there and swilled it about. “Sly fox,” he said, “dumb fish.” Next off, he grabbed his small net and tried hunting near some reed beds. He waited by the lily pads and the rushes, gently holding the net in the water and dragging it about. Herding the fishes towards an inlet, het let out a shot of speed and dragged the net up. Streams of small fish swam out to the side, but Nick’s eyes lit up with glee as he saw a small one still caught in his net. “YES!” he cried. “FISH NUMBER ONE!” Opening up a large bag, he dropped the little fish in and look it proudly. It flopped about and gasped, its orange fins sticking out and trying to push the non-existent water around it. With its light green skin and darker green stripes, Nick was pretty certain that it was a perch, though whether it was a giant one or a little baby he had no idea. All he knew was that it was about the right size to make a good dinner alongside a load of potatoes and peas.

The hunt carried on, Nick’s bag soon filling up with half a dozen similar sized fish and threescore more little ones that could be made into soup. Nick, however, wanted to try and get something bigger. Getting bored with this type of fishing, he decided that it was time to pack it in when he heard a weird splash in the distance. Shrugging it off, he placed his bag safely on the bank and waded out into the pond. Opening up his umbrella, he let the area around him become darker and, as his eyes adjusted, he made out shapes moving between the mud he’d kicked up, along with some of the weeds that grew off the muck on the ponds floor. Dropping in a little bit of his bait and with his net in the water, he waited, and waited…

.

And waited…

.

And waited…

.

The mud had settled around him, and he saw many small fish gently cruising around him. However, he was waiting for something bigger.

.

He waited…

.

And waited…

.

Until it came. It was big. A brown fish, at least as long as Nick was tall. At first Nick gulped, but he steeled his nerves as the large fish came closer. Gently moving his net closer to his body, though it was woefully undersized to be any use in the traditional sense, he slowly closed the distance between him and it. With his umbrella attached to him via some straps, he was able to ready both paws for the catch. Twisting his head and taking the net in his mouth, the tips of his claws soon hovered a hair's breadth from the water's surface.  

.

He pounced, lunging his paws down and grabbing the fish in them. He felt his claws pierced its skin and he doubled over, trying to lock it in place, only to feel the shock of the creature fighting back. “NO YOU DON’T,” Nick shouted, spitting out his net and getting ready to use his mouth as well. The fish was very heavy, almost too much to lift out the water, and it was swimming with enough force to send the water behind him splashing out in a great spray. A large pull, and Nick fought back, trying to haul him close enough to deliver a killing blow to his head. He dove down, teeth bared out, only for his grip to loosen slightly. The fish gave one last great thrust and, as Nick pounced down, his face and jaws only met cold water.

Lifting his head back up, Nick blinked as water streamed down over his eyes, before rapidly shaking his head. The cold water removed, he grumbled and looked at where the fish had sailed off too, before his ears rose at the sound of something else.

Clapping.

“What…?” he almost whispered, as he turned his head and saw both Tarka and Judy, the former doing the clapping and the latter in some kind of white dress, watching him.

“Come over,” the Otter called, and Nick shrugged in response. Why not? He’d got a good catch already in his bag, something he picked up on his way over, and he wanted to check how Judy was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coppers were large tubs of metal (the best made from copper, but galvanised steel was also used) in which clothes washing was done before the advent of washing machines (cotton and linen being boiled to keep it clean). In situations like this one it also made sense as a water boiler for baths. 
> 
> Nick here is seen setting up a catfish trap. Fish can swim in, but not out. The technique with the umbrella is based off of one used by certain species of crane, shading an area of water to lure the fish in.
> 
> While the famous 'Mind the gap' recording didn't appear on the London underground until the 1960's, Nick would have likely picked it up from a station attendant or train guard.


	9. Chapter 9

** Fishing (part 3): **

.

The three mammals sat on the upstream edge of the weir, their legs hanging off the side and swaying over the mill pond. Nick’s claws, which were exposed now that he’d removed his waders, sometimes glanced the water and sending little ripples off into the distance. Both Kits, Judy and Nick, had their old-fashioned fishing poles out and balancing on a railing, letting the lures float out just in case any other fish wanted a bite. With so much fish in Nick’s bag, they’d decided to put most of their bait onto the remaining hooks; they’d have plenty more once they’d filleted today's catch, taken from the heads as well as other leftovers. Even if it weren’t the case, there were always bugs on the farm that were only fit for fish bait. That meant there was no harm in trying to bait one last big catch, though Tarka had joked that they’d likely only get a piddling little minnow or something for all its worth.

Nick and Judy didn’t mind though. The day had been busy for them, Nick tired out from all the fishing he did and Judy from both her earlier experience and the relaxing wash she’d had. Despite being jumpy and excited before, they both thought that a nice it-down in some old chairs would be a good thing before they started on their way back to the burrow. Nick especially.

“Are you sure you…”

“YES!” Judy loudly replied, irritated that, once again, her sense of navigation was being questioned.

“Sure Carrots…” Nick replied. “Sure…”

“And don’t call me that!” she scolded.

“And don’t be so loud,” Tarka hissed at her. “If you want any more fish, you’d better not scare them off.”

Judy blushed slightly, before turning away. “Sorry,” she whispered, to which Tarka nodded.

“Better be,” he muttered. “Least you can do given that you’re using  _my_  pond as his larder. When your mother and brothers come over to mill their grain, I’ll be sure to have a word with her about this. I think a bit of a markup is in order, so tell her to bring at least ten-percent more.”

“Yes sir,” she replied again.

.

A soft quiet filled the air. The waterwheel hadn’t turned all day, while the stream water coming off the moor up above merely flowed near-silent down the overflow channel. Nick, his scout book out, was scanning through the pages furiously until his eyes widened and he turned to Tarka. “Mr Tarka sir,” he said, “I think I found the fish I almost caught.”

“Really?” he asked, turning over in his chair to look at Nick. The Fox kit presented his book out for Tarka to look at and the otter glanced at the picture for a few seconds before spitting on the ground and turning back.

“Barbel,” he grovelled. “No use to me if you caught that. Says so right in there, you can’t eat the roe!”

“Suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t catch it then,” Nick said, sending the older mustelid nodding.

“Yarp!”

.

.

.

The quiet was broken slightly as Judy yawned, her mouth opening and rotating before gently closing again…

.

.

.

It was broken again as Nick pulled in a huge breath, before his mouth opened up into a huge yawn. His jaws almost at right angles to each other, his tongue pulled itself up like a cobra poised for a strike while his teeth glistened in the sunlight. The yawn kept on going, finally disappearing just as Nick saw fit to bring his paw up to cover his mouth, not that it would do much good. Closing his lips together, Nick blinked a few times before wiggling in his seat, settling further down into it. Tarka looked at him for a few seconds, thinking, before hopping off his chair and scurrying back to his house. “I’ll be just a minute,” he said, and Nick watched him get smaller, before turning and vanishing behind the mill building.

.

.

“So….” Judy began, trailing the word out as she thought out her exact wording. “How was your first fishing trip.”

“Pretty great,” Nick proudly replied, a big smile on his muzzle. “I think you could see that when you looked in the catch bag though.”

“Show-off,” Judy grumbled.

“Jealous,” Nick snarked back.

.

.

“But, ummm… How are you finding it out here, so far?”

.

“It’s nice,” Nick replied. “I think I’d like to spend more time here. Explore…”

“Do scouting stuff?” Judy suggested.

“Yeh,” Nick replied. “I mean, I was about to join the Junior ranger scouts when I was told I’d be evacuating out here. I guess that if there’s some in the town I can join them! Though I guess we’ll being doing different stuff to what scouts normally do.”

“Why?” Judy asked, causing Nick to roll his eyes.

“Take a guess,” he suggested. “There’s a big thing beginning with W.”

“Oh…” Judy said, before giggling.

“What?” Nick asked.

“They’d probably be sending you out gathering food and stuff! And firewood, given that coal’s being rationed. Anyway, I heard that the Junior scouts stopped given the war. Sent them all home to do just that.”

“Awww….” Nick sighed.

“Well don’t worry, I heard the normal ranger scouts are still working, and they’re doing more interesting stuff.”

Nick’s ears flicked up, and he turned to face Judy. She couldn’t help notice that his tail was wagging. “Like what?” he asked.

“Well,” Judy began, “my brother Henry has been working a bit with the home guard. He says that they’ve got ranger scouts helping them build things, cleaning up weapons and sending messages and stuff. Apparently some are training up to carry people on stretchers, though it tends to be bigger mammals doing that.”

“Just a shame I have to wait four more years,” Nick complained.

.

“Well, not if the war ends,” Judy commented.

.

“Good point.”

.

“Do you think the war will still be going on in four years?”

.

“Do you?” Nick asked back. “I hope not. I want to see my Mum much sooner than that. I want us to win, but we will won’t we? We’re the good guys, and the good guys always win. Don’t they?”

.

.

“Don’t they, Judy…?”

.

Judy looked away as Nick’s voice trailed off, a worried tone taking over. She hoped they’d win the war, but she couldn’t be sure that they would. She didn’t mind much, her old Grandpa had said that the Cud Reich was a great country. Though that was because both he and it hated predators and, looking at Nick, Judy was pretty certain that she didn’t. She wondered how much Nick, and all the other predators, really worried about losing the war. She was about to ask him when a voice interrupted them.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” Tarka shouted as he carried three big jars, cradled in his arms. He waddled up between the two and placed the jars down between them, before turning up to Nick. “And don’t worry about the good guys not winning. We always do.”

Nick smiled at the comment, only for his grin to fade as Tarka continued.

“Though the real question is, how much do we lose in the meantime? We and our children and their children could all lose, but we’d eventually win as long as we stayed good.”

“Are you worried?” Judy asked. “About what happens if we lose?”

“Not as much as their soldiers should be,” Tarka replied. “They invade, I’m not going down without a fight. I’ll hide in the moors, make their lives miserable… If I don’t kill ‘em, I’ll make it so that they look at Knitler’s ball with envy!”

Nick burst into a snickering giggle, slapping his knee as he hunched over laughing. Judy, not getting the joke, just waited till he finished before speaking.

“What’s in the jars?” she asked.

Nick’s ears flicked up, and he took a sniff. “It smells like beer,” he said. “Is it ginger beer? All adventurers need lashings of ginger beer at the end of the day!”

“Is that in your scouting book?” Judy asked, Nick’s eyelids lowering to half-mast in response.

“No…” he muttered. “It’s in the story books my Dad always read out to us in the evenings. I’ve only tried it a few times before… though it doesn’t actually smell like beer, unlike that stuff. Maybe that ginger beer does have alcohol in it?”

“Alcohol yes,” Tarka replied. “Ginger, no.” He leant down and stuck a cork screw into the top of one of the jars, pulling out the stopping cork with a loud pop. A foam of bubbles, tinged with amber, fizzled out and flowed down the outside. Tarka took a deep sniff and blew down, before lifting the jar up and taking a deep swallow. “Apple cider,” he proudly boasted, before pushing it towards Nick.

Taking a few exploratory sniffs, the fox lifted the jar up and took his own taste, only with widely different results. His face winced up into a disgusted scowl, his tongue flopping out almost to its entire length, all while Tarka just scoffed.

“City boys…” he muttered. “I thought that you all had to drink beer and stuff as the water was too filthy to trust!”

“Noooo….” Nick grunted. “And the stuff the landlord down the road sneaks me doesn’t taste nearly as bad as that!”

“PAH!” Tarka huffed, before pushing over the jar to Judy. “You try it, show the city boy that we country-folk can hold our stuff!”

Judy’s nose twitched at the jar, and she carefully took a little sip. Sucking her lips a bit, she went back for another, larger, sip; before she hauled up the jar and took a great big swig. Nick looked on with wide eyes, while even Tarka had a slight look of concern on his eyes, as Judy finished and placed the clay jar back down. “It’s good!” she commented, before giggling slightly.

“Yes,” Tarka muttered, “just a shame that the one who likes it is a bunny girl who’ll be hopping drunk if she’s not too careful.”

“I’ll be good!” Judy swooned, causing Tarka to grunt.

“Well, be careful. I don’t think you want to go back into the pond, do you?”

.

“Well….”

“No!” Tarka warned, as he took his jar back and jumped back into his chair. “The answer is no.” He took his own swig of the drink, before placing the jar beside him and settling down.

.

.

.

.

“Want to hear a story, Fox?”

.

“Okay Otter,” Nick replied.

.

“I’m pretty sure you know my name’s Tarka,” Tarka replied, “so enough with that cheek. Not my fault I can’t remember yours, city boy…”

“Well…”

“Do you want this story or not?”

“Yes.”

“Right, then…”

“And my name is Nick.”

“Duly noted,” Tarka replied. The Otter got up in his chair and looked up at the looming mass of the moorland that rose above them. “That there is Emperor’s moor,” Tarka explained, before turning his head and point down the valley. Far in the distance, through the rolling curves of the hills as they cut into the river valley; past a tall, thin and abandoned viaduct and out across the flat farmland that farmsteads like Judy’s made their home on, lay the looming visage of a second moor. Dark, brown, rugged and bare, it loomed large on the horizon. “And that one there is Monarchs Moor,” Tarka continued. “The Roebuck family once ruled them all. Proud, rich and good businessmen. This mill was built by Lord Reece Roebuck for his bastard son Ryan Fitzreece, so he’d live a decent life. Lord Reece’s son, James Roebuck came next. Then Peter Roebuck. Then came the Monarch and the Emperor, and the fall of the Roebuck’s.”

“What happened,” Nick asked, and Tarka chuckled.

“Twins,” he said, with a sense of foreboding. “Frederick Roebuck was born, son of Peter, as was Hugh Roebuck. Peter maintained that, in terms of inheritance, that each one of his sons would get half of his land. The one exception would be if one was ‘clearly more suitable or less’ for the role, and then the superior would get the whole inheritance. Peter died when they were both children and they inherited their own halves aged eighteen, at which point they’d learnt to loathe each other.”

“So, did one try to claim the whole estate,” Judy asked, to which Tarka nodded.

“Both did,” he said. “Frederick was born first, so he claimed that the laws of inheritance worked for him. Hugh, however, used a strong piece of old deer law. Frederick’s antlers had thirteen points, making him a ‘monarch’. Hugh meanwhile had seventeen, a huge number, particularly given that ‘emperors’ only had to have more than fourteen. And so, they set their lawyers against each other.”

“So they spent all their money on lawyers?” Nick asked.

“Some of it. They dragged everything on for so long that it cost a fortune. At the same time, an old law stated that as long as the dispute took place, mining or quarrying was banned on their lands. While other landowners got rich, they got poorer and poorer. They still tried to one-up each other, building great follies, but that just drained what was left. Finally, when the lawyers finally threw out the case, commenting that neither of the bucks was suitable, it came to a duel.”

“Walk ten paces and fire?” Judy asked, as Tarka nodded.

“That they did. And as if god wanted to punish them, both were struck with mortal blows. The land, near worthless due to the debts attached, was given to some granddaughter of Ryan Fitzreece. By this time, steam mills had taken all but the local trade in the business, so the granddaughter sold what was left and invested her money in the new railways. I hear she married, died and her children have a good life. As for the mill, my father bought it and I inherited it.”

.

.

The three were quiet after the end of the story. No more fish were caught, and Judy and Nick prepared to leave. It was only as they packed that Nick remembered his catfish trap. The three made their way over, before finding a pleasant surprise in store. A fat catfish, at least the size of the barbel that escaped earlier, was stuck in the trap. Its head dunked underwater and its tail still in the pipe, it filled it all up, blocking any more fishing getting in as it trashed about. Judy, begrudgingly, apologised to Nick while Tarka looked on and smiled happily at the result, saying that keeping the trap would be fair payment for them taking some of his fish. Turning to Judy, Nick said that she’d have to help her bring down even bigger pipes and buckets, so next time one fish wouldn’t clog everything up. Judy mumbled something and together, their days catch in paw, the two began their walk back to the burrow. It may have been the story they’d been told, or just a feeling, but both were more open to each other. Judy listened carefully to Nick when he mentioned directions while Nick did his best not to pester Judy.

They returned home in good time, having (on balance) enjoyed the day, and excited for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Barbel roe can’t be eaten.
> 
> Scouts in the war would have helped on the home front, or in any way they could. In contrast, those in occupied Poland were active in the resistance, including the warsaw uprising.
> 
> Ginger beer is available in alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties.
> 
> While beer was drunk in leu of water in pre-Victorian times, clean water would be available in the cities well before this point.
> 
> Deers have varying titles (royal, emperor, monarch) dependant on how many points they have on their antlers (12,14,16).
> 
> This will be the last chapter for a while now, given that I’ve finally cleared the unpublished chapters I had. I’m now moving on to a new project, an unofficial sequel to Kittah4/ VariableMammal’s story ‘Familiar Fire’. Check out the original, plus the official sequel (The Appointed Time), but I’d much appreciate it if you gave my one (Familiar Fire: The Embers of the Past) a look too.
> 
> I’ll be continuing to publish ‘A Lead Role in a Cage’ until its done, and will then move onto a short story that I’ve got mostly ready, which will be a Fantastic Mr Fox crossover called ‘‘Different’’.


End file.
